The Dragonborn's Keeper
by Zoop
Summary: Waking up in a prisoner wagon when you thought you were playing a game is no way to start your day. But who's going to be the Dragonborn? The arachnophobic off-worlder with no survival skills, or the Orc prisoner who gets stuck with her?
1. Awakening

**Awakening**

I jerked awake, and immediately regretted it. My head hurt, a stabbing pain behind my eyes that seemed to stretch back to where my spine met my skull. And there was such brightness all around, nearly piercing through my closed eyelids. Where the hell was I?

Wherever I was, it was moving, jostling over uneven ground. Sounds came to me, of wheels crunching on hard-packed earth, horses plodding along, men speaking. I slowly opened my eyes against the glare.

The first face I saw was a scruffy-looking man's. He had long, dirty blond-ish hair, and stared out the back of the wagon sullenly. I blinked. My previous question wasn't forceful enough: Where _the fuck_ was I?

Beside him sat another man, his mouth bound with a heavy cloth. Both men's wrists were tied with cords, and after a moment I realized mine were as well. My eyes began to dart about in panic. I knew where I was now.

Skyrim. How the hell did I get here? It was a game, wasn't it? _Oh, crap_, I thought with alarm, _I'm __**not**__ the god damned Dragonborn, am I?_

I looked from face to face in front of me, but no one was paying me any attention. Then I looked beside me, and I almost jumped right out of the wagon.

It was an Orc, an honest-to-gods Orc. Dark-skinned, pointy-eared, tusked and vicious-looking _Orc_. He must have seen me start, because his head turned toward me. I almost died; _red eyes_, solid red. No whites on this guy, just solid blood red. And his forehead had bits of bone sticking out, like he either came from a really weird genetic line, or heaven forbid it was done _to_ him in some sort of tribal hazing ritual. He had reddish hair, almost like rust. He'd tied his beard in a knot just below his chin, and the sides of his head were shaved, leaving a long bunch from his brow on back he'd gathered in a tail. There was dark purple paint around his eyes, sweeping down over his cheeks to his jawline. And his tusks... good god, they were huge. One had the tip broken off, and the thought flitted through my mind to ask what happened to it, but I didn't dare.

His eyes twitched, like his focus was shifting around. Without pupils or whites, it was hard to tell what exactly he was looking at, other than me. Or _parts_ of me, anyway. His lips curled in what I guessed was a disgusted grimace, and he looked away again.

Out from under his scrutiny, I let out the breath I hadn't known I was holding, and looked at the land beyond the wagon. It was snowy and full of mountains, but other than that... Of the men in the wagon, there wasn't much to tell. A few were dressed in uniforms I recognized as Stormcloak, and of course the man with the gag was Ulfric Stormcloak himself, their leader. The rest, like the Orc and myself, were in rags. And it was cold. I shivered as the temperature made its presence fully known now that the initial shock had worn off.

"Where are you from?" one of the men in uniform asked me, and I guessed it must be the famous Ralof, who would eventually lead my worthless ass out of this place once the dragon attacked. _Crap_. I shook my head and forced myself to focus on where I was now.

"Uh... it's kind of hazy," I hedged.

"I'm from Rorikstead," a skinny, ferrety man supplied nervously, as if anyone was talking to him. "This was a mistake. I did nothing. I'm not rebelling against the Empire. What do they want with _me_?"

I snorted. He wasn't long for this world, if he was the thief I remembered. "There's 'innocence,' and then there's 'innocence,' isn't there?" I suggested. Unexpectedly, the Orc beside me grunted a laugh.

"Light-fingers," he growled with amusement, twiddling his own in front of him, then he laughed a little harder. The ferrety guy glared hotly at him.

"What did they grab _you_ for, then?" he asked sarcastically. "Banditry, I expect. Any Orcs not taking it in the ass from the Empire are usually waylaying travelers and murdering folk in their beds for a few coins."

The resultant uproar in the wagon just about knocked me out the back. The whole affair had to halt as guards converged to separate the Orc from the ferret. He had a solid hold on the man with his teeth, tearing through the muscles of his shoulder and clubbing the little shit with his bound hands. The Rorikstead man could do nothing but scream, beat feebly against his attacker, and piss himself. Several merciless clouts from an Imperial club subdued the Orc and he returned to his spot on the bench, a glare fixed on the woozy thief. Blood dripped from the Orc's tusks and seeped from the corners of his mouth, but he made no effort to wipe it away.

I stared at the floor of the wagon, blinking. _Holy shit_, I thought. _This is real. I'm going to die a horrible, nasty death._

Eventually, as I knew it would, the line of prisoner wagons pulled into Helgen, and I drew a shuddering breath. I was pretty sure the stink of fear on me must be overwhelming. We stopped in a courtyard and the Imperial guards started hauling us out.

They called people by name from a list. I was fairly certain I wasn't on it. Mr. Ferret responded to his name by hauling ass down the road, only to be picked off by an archer. The Orc once again grunted with amusement. I glanced over, and noted he still had the guy's blood around his mouth. He met my gaze, then licked his lips and tusks provocatively. And I don't mean in a sexy way. He nearly provoked me into barfing.

"You there," one of the Imperials said, pointing at me. "You're not on the list. Who are you?"

I froze. What the hell should I say? Stammering a little, I said, "Duh-Danni." Squeezing my eyes shut for a second, I shook my head and corrected, "Danielle." The man frowned and went back to his list.

Fidgeting in the cold, I looked around. The other wagons were emptying, the other prisoners being role-called and sent to stand over in a group. I could see the block with its ominous basket, the executioner dressed in black, his face covered with a black cowl, a huge, _huge_ mofo of an axe before him. He was leaning on it like a farmer would lean on his rake, or a construction worker on his shovel. Like it was so much a part of him he probably slept with the damn thing.

"I'm sorry, Nord," the Imperial said, nigh apologetically. "We'll see that your remains are sent on to Whiterun for proper burial."

Blinking, I let myself be led to the others. I didn't hear them speak to the Orc; couldn't really hear anything except a dull repetition of 'remains' like the tolling of a bell.

For a moment, fury flared inside me, and I wanted to scream. What the hell? I was dragged from my comfortable, _warm_ home, dropped like a sack of dirty laundry into a wagon full of prisoners getting carted to their deaths in a flipping _tundra_, and it was looking a whole lot like I would be joining them, regardless of how the game was _supposed_ to be played. Yeah, a dragon would attack, but what if it _didn't_? What if the damn thing got delayed, stopped for a snack of goats or something? I could feel the trembling escalate to damn near convulsions as the last of the prisoners were sorted.

Once again, the Orc was beside me. I looked up at him; he was really pretty tall, but then I wasn't too heartily blessed in the height department myself. "So."

He returned my gaze, raising an eyebrow. "So what?"

"This is it, huh?" The priestess had begun her blessing for the soon-to-be-chopped-to-more-manageable-chunks.

"Face it bravely, little one," he growled, returning his focus straight ahead, his head held high.

I frowned and snapped, "_Little _one?"

His mouth contorted in what I would come to realize was his way of grinning.


	2. Escape

**Escape**

I actually breathed a sigh of relief when the man on my other side grew impatient with the rigamarole and 'volunteered' to go first, just like in the game. He stomped over to the block and knelt in position. The executioner raised his axe and let it fall. My stomach emptied violently on the ground.

Yes, I've seen this part of the prologue several times. No, it doesn't make me puke every time. Try having your _own_ ass standing in line for the chopping block for a change. And it wasn't _exactly_ like in the game, either. There were no censors here, making sure the gore was held to a minimum for a teenaged audience. And they spared us from the harsh reality of bowel release and convulsions in the guy's death, too. My knees about gave way.

One of the officers pointed me out as the next one for the axe, and I almost pissed down my leg. I cast a desperate look at the Orc, and I'm pretty sure my lower lip trembled. His head turned slightly, and I _think_ he was actually looking at me out of the corner of his eye. Hard to tell with no pupils, etc. He grunted, and dipped his chin slightly.

That's it? That's all you've got? Shaking uncontrollably, I dragged myself over to the block.

It's weird how fear will make you deaf. I don't remember hearing the dragon's roar, and barely acknowledged the Imperials looking around in confusion when _they_ heard it. All I could see was the black-clad executioner; all I heard was the crunch of my own feet on the ground as I approached. I'd rather not think about what I _smelled._ Jesus, they didn't even have the courtesy to shove the dead man out of the way, so not only did I have to kneel beside a shit-covered corpse, I had to look down into the meaty, bony, gooey, bloody mess of the stump of his neck sticking out of his head in the basket. No wonder your avatar in the game looks up at the executioner; much better view.

So I got a really awesome view of the dragon when it landed on the top of the tower and Shouted at everyone.

It was like getting hit by a blast from a wind tunnel. I fell across the block and my face actually rammed into the head stump. If the desperate desire to _live_ hadn't been so strong, I might have vomited again. As it was, I just lay there in a stupor from the blast, with a face-full of dead guy head, until I felt a pair of bound hands grab my shirt in the middle of my back and literally _drag_ me toward another tower. I never gained my feet, my rescuer was in such a damn hurry to reach cover. Once inside, I was tossed to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

"A _dragon_, Ulfric!" Ralof was saying. "They are the harbingers of the End Times. I never thought to see one in my lifetime. What does it mean?"

The same rough hands yanked me to my feet, and I saw it was the Orc. He presumably looked me over before turning to the other Nords. _Other_ Nords. It occurred to me, for some reason, that the Imperials had assumed I was one of the natives. What the hell did I _look_ like, then? Because back home, I had pretty dark hair and eyes. Not something you'd associate with this Viking-esque people, but then they came in all sorts of different shapes and sizes, I supposed.

I was startled out of my thoughts by what felt like a wrecking ball hitting the tower. Everyone was staggered.

"We've got to get out of here. We should separate," Ulfric said. "Take these prisoners with you. I'll take the others."

"We will make for Windhelm when this storm blows over," Ralof vowed, clasping wrists with the Jarl. Then he turned to the stairs. "Follow me, this way. There may be a way across to another tower up the stairs."

As expected, we only got around one turn of the curved stairs when the wall exploded, and a great gout of flame blew in, cooking one of the Stormcloaks in front of us. I nearly fell back down the stairs, but the Orc was like another wall at my back. However, when I fell into him, his bound hands were, of course, in front.

There's nothing quite like getting goosed by an Orc.

"You must jump down, to that inn," Ralof said, pointing out through the giant hole in the wall. I gaped at him.

"Jump? Are you insane?"

"We can go no further!" he shouted, gesturing at the rubble blocking the stairs above us. "You _must_!"

"You _suck_!" I shouted, because I _knew_ his ass wasn't going to follow us. Behind me, the Orc just grunted and flung himself out into space.

Well, I couldn't let him do something that retarded without joining him. He might think I'm soft. So out I went. Thankfully, the Orc wasn't all that fast, and broke my fall quite nicely. This did not please him.

"Get off me!" he roared, swinging his arms like a club. I barely avoided a serious thunk. "Clumsy bitch!"

"You make a real shitty pillow," I snapped, struggling to my feet. He rose as well, and probably would have given me a similar cuddle to the one he gave the thief if we had the luxury of time. The dragon was having a field day out there, though. The screaming of the panicked citizens was frequently punctuated by the dragon's roar as he swooped back and forth, laying waste and setting everything on fire.

I followed the Orc down through a hole in the floor to the ground level, then out into the open. He didn't seem particularly disturbed, while I was having a hard time maintaining my composure. I kept trying to remind myself that everything was happening like in the game, so I knew how it would all play out. So far, it was going according to script. Except that if I was the Dragonborn, I didn't remember there being a cranky Orc companion this early.

Still, I had to admit that having a buddy in this hell hole was nice, especially since I could just follow in his wake. We emerged from the ruins of the inn, and joined a couple of Imperials trying to evacuate some citizens. One of them called us over.

"Follow me, prisoners, if you want to live." Then he took off, shouting over his shoulder, "Stay close to the walls!"

I exchanged a glance with the Orc, shrugged, and we followed the officer. It was a good thing we took his advice, because we weren't skirting the stonework for more than a few yards when the dragon landed on the wall right above us and set the adjacent building on fire. I swear, the monster's wing was so close I could touch it. I cringed up against the Orc for a moment, and heartily wished our hands weren't bound, because I could've used a hug right about now. Even from _him_.

We kept on, dodging people and flaming piles of people, until we reached this great big courtyard, and finally saw Ralof again. He had a manly exchange of harsh words with our Imperial guard, then ran for the keep. The Orc seemed to favor throwing his lot in with the Stormcloaks, and followed the Nord. I, of course, followed the Orc.

Once inside, we had a moment to catch our breaths, and _finally_ Ralof saw fit to cut our bonds. I chafed my wrists as the Orc didn't hesitate to relieve a Stormcloak corpse of its armor and weapon. It didn't bother me that there was only one spare axe; he could have it. What the hell would _I_ do with it? I could barely handle a kitchen knife. However, he didn't think twice about putting on the guy's armor, discarding his prisoner rags in the process.

I learned something in that moment; two things, actually. One, this Orc had _no_ modesty whatsoever, stripping off right in front of me without a glance in my direction. Two, this was really _really_ real. Like, devoid of those lame little cloth flaps to hide a man's equipment, kind of real.

It's not like I'm a total prude, but when presented with such a package as this Orc was sporting... he was an eye-catcher, that's for damn sure. Toned and muscular, if mossy greenish in skin tone. I confess I was curious. He wasn't human, after all. But there wasn't anything appreciably different between his endowments and that of a human male. He was just... darker. More like an African American than a Caucasian, but pretty much the same.

A few minutes later, we heard the arrival of a couple of Imperials, and found ourselves engaged in pitched battle. I pretty much cowered in a corner while Ralof and the Orc, who still hadn't bothered to introduce himself, dispatched them in short order. Then it was another round of striptease without the tease as the Orc went for one of the Imperial's steel armor. I forced myself to take the lighter-weight armor off the other one while Ralof fumbled a rusty key in the barred door that would lead us out. Unlike the Orc, I kept the flimsy rags on and just put the armor on over them.

At least, I tried to. There were a ton of buckles and straps, not to mention there were no leggings. You could probably call it a hauberk, but I would call it a well-armored skirt. I could feel a draft up the back. Regardless, I fumbled and swore under my breath, getting almost nowhere, until the Orc came over and batted my hands away. Those creepy eyes of his narrowed as he jerked the leather to hang properly, and pulled the buckles tight.

"You don't have to suffocate me," I hissed.

"Armor is like skin," he growled. "You wear it as such, and it will serve you, not hinder you."

"What the hell is your name?" I snapped. "If I'm going to be felt up, it would be nice to know who's doing it."

He glanced up at my face, or I think he did, anyway. "Mauronk."

"Great. Call me Danni." He grunted. It seemed to be his default response to anything he had no witty answer to.

Truth be told, he knew what he was doing. The armor _did_ feel more natural when he got done with it. Finally dressed to kill, we followed the Nord out of the circular room and down into the dungeons.


	3. Emergence

**Emergence**

Ralof and Mauronk made short work of the torturer and his apprentice down below, as I pretty much kept my distance. Watching the Orc was an eye-opener in a lot of ways, frequent full Monties notwithstanding. Maybe it was the exoticness of his being non-human, but I couldn't take my eyes off him. I wondered if I would have been just as transfixed by an elf, or even a Khajiit or Argonian. Possibly, but I probably wouldn't have been drooling over the latter two. Likely not an elf, either. Speaking of freaky eyes... He had eyes like a Dunmer, come to think of it, making me wonder if there hadn't been some embarrassing hanky panky in his family tree at some point.

Mauronk was a pretty controlled fighter, too. I watched him tear into the torturer with measured swings, applying just enough force to drop his opponent and move on to the next, even though Ralof had the other taken care of. I tried my hand at picking the locks on the cell doors, and actually did a pretty good job. Eventually, anyway. I broke about half a dozen lockpicks to manage it. All those times through the game playing stealthy characters certainly paid off, though, because once I had the feel for it, they got a bit easier.

The next batch of opposition we faced was in a more open cavern with a gurgling stream running through. The architects erected walkways and bridges, but Mauronk disdained them as he leaped right off with a roar, landing heavily on an Imperial archer down by the stream. Across the way, a couple more archers were shooting at us, thankfully with as good aim as Stormtroopers from "Star Wars." Ralof engaged a swordsman on the narrow bridge over the stream, while I fumbled with the torturer's apprentice's bow.

What I wouldn't give for a flaming arrow, because I could see the oily sheen on the walkway under the archers. Of course, as soon as I lamented it, I realized I was standing right next to a torch in a wall sconce. Getting the arrow shaft to catch wasn't easy, and took a bit of patience. The wood had been treated with _something_ to keep it from warping in damp conditions, apparently, and it wouldn't take the flame for several moments.

When a spark finally caught, I nocked the arrow and aimed it for the stone floor on the opposite walkway, then let it fly, because the flame suddenly burst into life, threatening to consume the bow I held. That would have been really embarrassing.

The arrow skidded across the floor and into the oil. The resulting _fwoosh_ as the oil caught on fire was both satisfying and nauseating. Two men, albeit men who were actively trying to kill us, burst into flames and died horribly right in front of my eyes. What was worse, _I_ did it. For the second time, I launched a stomach volley, this time sinking to my knees and leaning on my hands.

"Get up," Mauronk snarled, grabbing me by the collar of my hauberk. I staggered weakly to my feet.

"Are you all right?" Ralof asked, concern on his face. I nodded, then shot a hateful look at the insensitive Orc. He just looked sort of... indifferent, I guess. His expressions were pretty hard to read, what with the red eyes and the big-ass tusks setting his mouth in a permanent grimace.

I didn't want to look like a complete wuss or anything, but the least Mauronk could do was show a little sympathy, you know? I just set a couple of strangers on fire, for crying out loud. I shook all over as we passed their bodies, contorted in agonized poses, charred to a crisp. This was another thing the game hadn't prepared me for: seeing the aftermath of a burning like that.

Ralof eventually led the way into a cavern with spiders in it, and that's where I really lost it. I'm not a big fan of spiders to begin with. Present me with half a dozen the size of a cow, and I come completely unhinged. The arrows never came out of my quiver, the bow didn't get unslung from my back. I curled up in a ball and _screamed_, over and over again, my arms covering my head.

This time, the Orc didn't content himself with hauling me to my feet. Once he had me up, he slapped me across the face.

I'd missed the entire fight in my hysteria, and now he was standing in front of me covered in greenish ichor. I _think_ he was scowling more than usual.

"What are you doing, Orc?" Ralof barked, pushing him away from me. Mauronk rounded on the Nord.

"She hinders us," he roared. "Would you indulge her weakness? We will all _die_ if you do."

"She is not a warrior!" he cried. "Let her be!"

"No, really, I'm fine," I ventured weakly, still shaken up. I tentatively touched my cheek and winced. It still hurt. "You're a real prize, Mauronk."

He grunted. "Now you will fight when it is needed."

"Hardly," I snapped. "More likely I'll just hide from _you_."

"And I will strike you again, and again, until you are less of a burden!" he retorted.

"If _that's_ your attitude, maybe my next arrow will go right up your ass!"

"As long as you _send_ one, I do not care _where_ it goes!"

"Up your ass it is, then!"

He was quivering, actually shaking with rage, and it was probably Ralof pushing him back that kept him from giving me a good walloping right then and there. I could tell this relationship was going to be a rocky one.

I was glad when we put that cavern full of tunnels and embarrassing moments behind us, even if it meant being out in the open with a flipping dragon still around. We saw it fly over, heading northward.

"We should go to Riverwood, before the Imperials swarm over the hills, looking for us," Ralof said once the dragon disappeared in the distance. "They should be warned. We will seek out my sister, Gerdur, and tell her what has happened."

I was a little surprised that Mauronk didn't put up a fuss, though I could hear him grumbling under his breath. I could tell he didn't really want to spend any more time with us than he already had, and I couldn't say I blamed him. The whole thing was playing out too much like a script for me, and I didn't like being dragged by the nose, either. I kept thinking the only reason I was there was to fulfill the whole prophecy of being Dragonborn, and I did _not_ think I was up to the task. Me, save the world? I couldn't even save a cat from a tree if I had the whole of my town's volunteer fire department at my side.

We made our way down the hillside, and it was becoming clear to me that this world was a ton bigger than the game version. I remember being able to see Bleak Falls Barrow in the distance the moment I stepped out of the cavern. I was able to make out the huge archways in front of the entrance even that far away. Double the distance, as was the case now, and it was a few darker shapes near the top of a mist-shrouded mountaintop so far away I wasn't even sure I was looking at the same mountain.

Except that Ralof made reference to it in passing, wondering why his sister wanted to live in its shadow, just like he did in the game.

It took us _hours_ to get within sight of Riverwood. I was completely exhausted by then, and willing to do anything for a hot shower and a bed. Especially the hot shower, because remember I was wearing ragged clothing from who knows where, and armor stripped off a dead guy who'd been sweating from terror and adrenaline right before he died. I felt like I was dressed in an insect coat, and the natives were getting restless.

First order of business appeared to be unloading all the junk we collected, so Mauronk and I went to the local smithy and traded off all the extra armor and weapons we'd scavenged from the Imperials. It was nice to have a pocketful of coins instead of crap peeled off a dead guy, which I hastily traded for leather armor that hadn't been in contact with anything deceased. Not after it was skinned off the original host animal, that is. The Orc divested himself of the Imperial steel as well, going for more 'generic' steel instead. Again, not too troubled by the fact that he was standing in the center of a bustling little town full of innocent women and children who probably didn't want an unobstructed view of his junk. I was getting to the point where I could pick this Orc out of a lineup with only the one bit showing.

I, on the other hand, went into the smith's house to change. Some of us have at least a passing acquaintance with _courtesy._


	4. Icebreaker

**Icebreaker**

When I came out of the smith's house, I couldn't see Mauronk anywhere. He may have been a bit of a pain, but he was the only person I knew. Other than Ralof, that is, who had _also_ disappeared. There were no handy little arrows over people's heads, telling you they were important to the questline, so I didn't know where the guy ran off to, nor was I likely to find him in town. All these Nords looked alike, with their pale skin and long, dirty blond hair.

Except for the guy running the Riverwood Trader. I stepped in there, looking for some civvies. The proprietor had darker hair, cut short. He might have been a Breton. He was also agitated, and I soon learned why.

"Why they would steal _that,_ and nothing else," he was complaining to a woman sitting at a nearby table trying to read a book.

"Something wrong?" I asked.

"Yes, I've been robbed," the man grumbled. "A golden dragon claw. I have no idea why anyone would take it."

"Well, is it made of _gold_?" I suggested. Really, did I have to state the obvious?

"Of course!" he cried. "Solid, too. Beautiful thing. Can't remember where I got it, and it's been sitting here on the counter for the longest time. Conversation starter, you know," he said proudly. "People come around to see it, and while they're here..." He spread his hands out, indicating the well-stocked shelves.

"So... thieves made off with it, eh?" I asked. This was starting to sound very familiar. "Are you, perhaps, interested in getting it back?"

"Would you do that for me?" he asked hopefully. "The thieves came from the Barrow up in the mountains. Bleak Falls, they call it."

Ah. _That's_ why it was familiar. "Sure. You've got yourself a deal. I'll just need to... track down my partner. Probably head out in the morning."

"Wonderful. You see? There are good people left in the world," he told the woman smugly. She waved her hand negligently and kept on reading.

Now I just had to find Mauronk and talk him into this. We were going to get sent into that place by the Jarl's magical stooge anyway. Might as well get it out of the way.

I spent a few coins on a couple of outfits, just so I'd have something other than armor to wear, and headed over to the Inn. As luck would have it, I saw Mauronk deep in 'conversation' with a scruffy-looking guy in a corner. I was somewhat relieved that he hadn't ditched me, but a little put out by the obvious signs that he'd spent all this time drinking away the few coins we had. In fact, it looked like they were having some kind of contest, judging by the number of upturned empty glasses already on the table. A few other men were standing around giving encouraging words and laughing loudly. Pretty disgusting tableau, to my way of thinking.

The barkeep sold me some dinner and rented me a room for the night. I managed to talk him into having someone run a bath for me. I swear, I smelled like burned wood. It was irritating.

By the time I finished off my meal, a steaming tub was waiting for me in my room. My goodness, it was delicious. I soaked in that thing for hours, it seemed. Only the falling temperature of the water coaxed me out of it. It only occurred to me after I'd toweled off that I didn't have any pajamas. Oh well. The sheets were cleaner than I expected, so what the hell? I settled in as I was. It wasn't long before I'd fallen asleep.

Without clocks, I had no idea what time it was when I was woken by the door of my room opening. I damn near jumped out of my skin, then froze like a deer in the headlights, hoping whoever was coming in wouldn't see me. I caught a glimpse of the person's form in the light cast by the firelight in the common room, and started.

It was Mauronk, staggering in, barely able to properly navigate. He closed the door with a bang, and leaned against it for a moment, rubbing his face. Then he headed toward the bed, peeling off his clothes along the way. Once he got near, he leaned precariously over and dragged something out from under the bed. I could hear it scraping on the wood floor, and wondered what the hell it was, until I heard him relieving himself into it. Ah, _chamberpot_, I guessed. God, I hoped he was coherent enough not to miss. Letting loose a thunderous belch and an equally noisy fart, he finished up and turned toward the bed.

Of course, I probably should have said something, but he was obviously drunk, and I didn't know him well enough to trust his reaction should he realize he wasn't alone. And it was pretty obvious he had no idea he'd just walked into the wrong room. My best bet, as far as I could see it, was to lay low and hope he was too out of it to notice me. Sure enough, he practically collapsed on the bed, pulled the blanket over his body, and fell almost instantly into deep sleep.

I almost let out a shaky, relieved laugh when he started snoring, but kept quiet. There was an acrid tinge to his scent because of the lousy day we'd had. In fact he smelled like an alehouse that had burned down. I decided I'd gently suggest he bathe come morning. Do us both a favor.

After awhile, I relaxed enough to go back to sleep. It was a damn good thing it was a full-sized bed, and not a single, though I wasn't entirely thrilled with the idea that my side of the bed was up against the wall, so I was effectively trapped between a rock and a hard place.

* * *

><p>The early morning light streaming feebly through the smudged windows stirred me awake. I cracked my eyes open a slit, just to see if he was still there. Mauronk hadn't moved, still lying flat on his back with his mouth slightly open as he snuffled softly. One arm was slung over his head, the other next to him with his hand resting on his chest. He seemed to be in a lighter stage of sleep, and would likely wake more easily now.<p>

"Mauronk," I ventured timidly. He grunted, still not quite surfacing. "Mauronk, I really have to pee."

"Go pee, then," he muttered.

"I'd love to, but I'd have to climb over you," I replied. I didn't want to mention the fact that I also didn't have a stitch on, and unlike him, wasn't about to parade across the room in front of a total stranger with all my goodies hanging out.

It took him a few seconds to register what I said, do the math, and come to the only logical conclusion available. He opened his eyes and slowly turned his head toward me. I smiled wanly and twiddled my fingers in a wave.

It was the funniest thing I'd ever seen. His dark red eyes flared wide, and he jumped out of the bed like he'd been shot from a cannon. He staggered backward until he ran out of room and slammed into the wall. I might have been some sort of terrifying monster the way he acted. Chuckling, I sat up, holding the blanket to my breasts.

His eyes hit the floor as if he'd never seen a woman in such a state of undress, and didn't want to offend me by staring. _Oh, this is rich_, I thought. _The Nudist meets hi__s match._ Mauronk hyperventilated like he was in a state of panic, too.

"I... did I...," he stammered awkwardly. It occurred to me that he was afraid of my answer, which amused me more.

"You mean you don't _remember_?" I snapped with mock indignation. I _hmphed_ and crossed my arms over my chest. "Gracious, I thought I had more of an impact than _that_."

He swallowed hard, his whole body trembling. He looked absolutely _horrified_. Wow. Talk about insulting. I scowled at him. "Shit, Mauronk, you could look a _little_ less like you just drank curdled milk."

"What... what do you want from me?" he asked stiffly.

_That_ wasn't a question I expected. "Huh?"

"The price for your silence," he muttered, still not looking at me. "I have little coin left. A few gems I was holding for a better price. I will give these to you, if you do not... if you tell no one what I have done."

"What?" I cried, completely floored. "You want to give me _money_?" I snapped. "I'm not a prostitute, for crying out loud! I do _not_ appreciate the implication. And you want me to keep it a _secret_, too? What, you have a jealous wife somewhere you don't want to piss off?"

"A _wife_?" he asked incredulously. "Are you stupid? You are human; I am Orsimer."

"Okay," I replied, not so certain now. "I guess maybe the terminology is probably different. A wife is like... a life partner? A mate? Uh... significant other?"

"I know what a _wife_ is," he snarled. "I cannot believe you think I _have_ one."

"Well, why else would you be thinking I'd blackmail you for having sex with me?"

"Please," he said wearily, dropping his head into his hands. "Just... tell me what you want. My life is forfeit if anyone finds out."

"_What the hell?_" I bellowed. "What kind of fucked up place _is_ this?"

He looked up at me in total confusion. "You... don't understand, do you?"

"Understand _what_?"

"I am an _Orc_," he snarled. "You are _human_. We do not... have sex. Not by _choice_."

I blinked in surprise. Well, damn. _That_ was an aspect of the game world that never occurred to me. What was worse, he wasn't kidding. He thought something happened that he couldn't remember, and what he _thought_ happened...

"Um... could you... put on some pants or something?" I suggested timidly. "It's a little... awkward."

He fetched his breeches and pulled them on quickly with shaking hands. I patted the bed. "Come on. Have a seat." His brow furrowed, but he obeyed. I shifted forward to sit beside him.

"Okay, just to set the record straight," I said, "_nothing happened_." He turned his head to look at me uncertainly. I nodded and patted his knee. "You stumbled in, fell on the bed, and didn't move a muscle all night."

"Why did you not say something?" he growled, though I could tell he was covering his relief with annoyance. "I invaded your room. You should have..."

"Honestly, Mauronk. Think about it. I barely know you sober; not at all when you're drunk. How the hell was I supposed to know you'd leave if I said anything?"

He sighed and nodded. "You are right. You could not know."

"And another thing, you should learn a valuable lesson from this," I said. "Drinking yourself into a stupor will just get you in trouble."

He snorted and nodded ruefully.

"Are we okay?"

"Okay?"

"You and me," I clarified. "We're clear. It's all good, right?"

He nodded. I grinned and thumped his back.

"How about you... toddle off to your room and ring up a bath. You smell like a burning village full of drunks."

"That bad?" he asked, tentatively sniffing his arm.

"Oh yeah," I replied. "I wasn't too tasty myself. Hence the bath. Off you go. I'll meet you in the common room for breakfast when you're more... presentable." He let an uncertain smile play around his tusks for a moment. Giving him a push, I 'gently' urged him to get going. He rose, gathered up his clothing, and left.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I got up and finally availed myself of the chamberpot.


	5. Excoriation

A/N: VisualIDentificationZeta, first paragraph's for you. :)

* * *

><p><strong>Excoriation<strong>

One usage of a chamberpot later, and I was really longing for indoor plumbing. While I was sure trying to nail a small bowl on the floor was probably a challenge even to sober guys, it was a serious pain in the ass for a girl having to squat over it. I almost pissed on the floor when I lost my balance and fell over. Trust me, the temptation just to sit in the cold tub and let go was nearly overwhelming.

The big decision of the morning appeared to be choice of outfits. Assuming I could talk Mauronk into that mission up to the Barrow, I should probably get suited up. But if we decided to stay in town for awhile first... I unwrapped one of the packages and looked over the dress critically. It was a stunner, that's for sure. I'd always thought the dress was amazingly sexy on some of the women in the game, so I was excited to see that trader had one. I wondered what Mauronk would think of it.

I felt my cheeks heat up. Where did _that_ come from? Oh sure, he was built like a brick house. Or... the male equivalent, anyway. I'm sure the Commodores didn't have boys in mind back in the day. The Orc certainly didn't leave you guessing as to his endowments, either. No, he was... right up front about it, pretty much. He was _so_ unselfish with his body, I almost felt like a nun by comparison. And _that_ was certainly not true.

This morning's little confrontation told me a lot about him that I probably wouldn't have learned even by talking to him for days. Whatever this taboo was about Orcs and humans getting it on, he took it damn seriously. He _could_ have taken advantage of the situation in a million other ways than how he actually handled it. I had to give him credit for that. Not shy about full Monties or thumping annoying girls he may be, but a rapist he was not.

The scary thing was, he was pretty damn sexy, and knowing the whole world would freak itself into a stupor if we so much as kissed made him exponentially _more_ desirable. What is it about 'forbidden' that gets the heart racing and the loins throbbing? Shaking my head and grinning, I put on the dress.

I'd seen it on a few women, mostly in association with taverns. The bodice dipped _way_ down, and shoved the boobs _way_ up, so you got an instant front-mounted cleavage assault vehicle. The skirt was knee length, and gathered up at the waist at intervals to show a frilly underskirt beneath. A pair of knee-high soft leather boots completed the ensemble. Though mostly colored in earth tones, it was still pretty complementary to my pale skin. I didn't have a mirror, but what I could see was pretty impressive. Grinning, I went out into the common room.

He was still in his room, hopefully scrubbing the hell out of himself, so I went ahead and ordered up some breakfast. The great big fire pit in the middle of the room was toasty warm, and I actually started feeling a little drowsy as I waited.

When he finally emerged from the room next to mine, he even _looked_ cleaner. The purple paint he'd worn was washed off now, and he was dressed in a simple tunic and pants. Obviously, he had no immediate plans for assaulting nearby tombs this morning. Without the paint, I could see a jagged scar on his left cheek from some long ago battle. As he approached, he was busy pulling his damp hair back and tying it with a thong, so he didn't register me at first.

Collapsing into the chair opposite me, he finally stopped fussing with his hair and looked at me. His jaw fell open. I really wished I could tell where his eyes were focused, but I guess I didn't have to wonder. The thing about breasts is that they don't require too much extra effort to fire off an opening salvo when a worthy opponent is near.

"Much better," I commented, leaning forward and breathing in his scent. If possible, his eyes widened more when this second volley was launched. "You'd never know either one of us had escaped a flaming village now."

Mauronk blinked rapidly, apparently trying to drag his attention away from the battlefield. "What... is that?" he finally asked, his voice rasping as he tried to keep it down.

"Do you like it?" I asked, fussing with the neckline and the way the skirt rested on my lap. "Not cheap, mind you, but well worth every... uh... septim."

"It is... nice," he managed, looking away.

"Well, _you_ don't sound too convincing," I grumped. Not exactly as effusive with admiration as I'd hoped.

"What do you want me to say?" he growled. "You look a proper whore; congratulations?"

My eyes flew open wide and my back went ramrod straight. Slowly standing up, I fixed him with a dagger-filled glare, then stomped back to my room, slamming the door behind me. While I felt like tearing the thing off and ripping it to shreds, I restrained myself, and folded it a bit less than neatly. It _had_ cost a lot. I put on my leather armor instead, but still couldn't go out there and face him.

I guess I should have expected it from him, Insensitivity Poster Child that he was, but it was still humiliating. He runs around in the altogether without a thought; I show a little skin and I'm a whore? What the hell? I was so angry, tears started to form, and that just made me madder.

There was a knock on my door, but I ignored it. Let him stew, the bastard.

"Danni."

"Go away."

"I'm... I'm sorry."

"Fuck off."

He tried the door, and it easily opened. I hadn't figured out how to lock it, I guess. He hesitantly walked in and closed the door behind him.

"I did not mean...," he began, but I cut him off.

"You know what?" I snapped. "If it's skin exposure that makes me a whore, than you're the world's _biggest_ whore. I've seen _every inch_ of you, and so have most of the people in this town."

"They are not looking at _me_," he retorted defensively.

"Well, why the hell _wouldn't_ they?" I cried. "You're... sort of... nice to look at." Again, my cheeks flared bright red, and I looked away.

"You are likely the only human who thinks so," he said quietly after a moment. I glanced up at him. He looked embarrassed, but the little smile wrestling its way around his tusks told me he was flattered as well.

"I'm not a whore, Mauronk," I said stiffly.

"I am sorry I said it," he replied. He sighed and leaned against the door. "You wear your armor. Do you have plans?"

"Yeah," I said, grateful for the change of subject. "The guy at the trader's has some stolen property he wants returned. I agreed to go get it." I rose and straightened the leather hanging around my legs. "Wanna come?"

He snorted a laugh. "Someone must keep you alive," he said.

"Well, go get dressed, then," I said firmly. Nodding, he left.

I was pretty sure I hadn't forgiven him, but I had to be realistic. There was no way I'd make it through Bleak Falls Barrow without a meat shield, and he made a pretty good one. He didn't say much as we left the inn and headed down the road, though he kept looking at me funny every now and then. At first I thought it was because he actually _had_ liked me in that dress and was imagining me back in it, but when he finally stopped and said something, I quickly learned how wrong I was.

"Stop, I cannot stand it," he snapped. Barely waiting for me to come to a full stop, he grabbed the front of my armor and started unbuckling the side.

"Oh my," I said breathlessly. "Right _here_?"

He curled his lip. "_This_ goes _here_," he snarled, realigning the straps and buckles. "And _this_ goes _here_."

I just stared at him, dumbfounded. My _armor_ wasn't on right?

"Now we can go on." He turned and started walking again.

"Wow," I said sarcastically. _"That_ was disappointing."

Furrowing his brow, he looked at me as I fell into step with him again. "What do you mean?"

"All groping and no 'oh my god'. You men are all alike."

Halting again, he gazed at me in disbelief. "What?"

The look of shock on his face was hilarious, so I carried on. "What about _my_ needs?" I cried to the heavens. "Don't _I_ deserve a thrill once in awhile? A little satisfaction?" Glancing at him, I almost blew it, he looked so completely uncomfortable, embarrassed, confused... the list goes on and on. "Never mind!" I wailed dramatically. I threw up my hand palm out, pitched my nose in the air, and walked right into a pair of very hungry, pissed off wolves.

While I didn't exactly shit myself, I came damn close to dampening my legs. Thank goodness for that chamberpot after all, huh? I thought my scream shook a few birds out of their nests as well. Mauronk was fast off the mark, and dove at the offending animals with a roar. Having fallen on my ass, I scuttled backwards out of the way and hyperventilated in an ineffectual heap while the Orc thoroughly ventilated the poor beasts.

Once more, the thought crowded into my mind that I was going to die horribly. Some Dragonborn _I_ was. What a piece of crap hero, if two little wolves nearly put me in a coma. Just wait for a dragon to drop out of the sky. Hugging myself and drawing up my knees, I just sat there staring at the ground. I could hear his metal-shod boots approaching.

_Here it comes_, I thought. _He's going to be disgusted and give me another 'lesson' about fighting, out of the goodness of his heart. Good thing he's wearing steel plated gauntlets so I'll be sure to get it this time._

Mauronk squatted next to me, and I flinched.

"I will not strike you, little one," he said, his voice a deep rumble. "Are you well? Do you need healing?"

"I'm sorry," I mumbled. "I suck. I don't know why I'm even trying."

"You do not... suck," he said uncertainly. Obviously, he was trying to work out the meaning by context and not having much success at it. "You were surprised. If anything, it is I who should apologize. I did not see them coming."

"I distracted you," I pointed out.

"There is that," he conceded. Another of his unwilling smiles battled fiercely to show itself. "Are you certain you want to continue?"

Sighing, I nodded. "I have to. Don't ask me why, just... I just have to. Once we're done here, we have to get to Whiterun and tell the Jarl. I'm sure Ralof is too busy hiding from Imperials to do a damn thing."

Grunting, Mauronk straightened and offered his hand. "I have not seen him since we reached Riverwood." I stood with his help. "If he has gone on to Windhelm, he must have done so in the night."

"Probably," I agreed. We continued on up the path to the Barrow. "Hey. Thanks," I muttered.

"We will need to camp before reaching the top, I expect," he said as if he hadn't heard me. "I can teach you the sword and bow, if you wish."

"That'll be great," I said dully.

"And you are welcome."


	6. Mortality

**Mortality**

"You are holding your sword wrong," Mauronk admonished. "Grip it like this, with a looser wrist. Such stiffness will allow a foe to disarm you easily." He shook my sword arm to loosen it.

We had camped halfway up the mountain toward the Barrow. Night had fallen, and that big red moon was hovering behind the peak, looking so close you could touch it. Except that I was busy being humiliated as Mauronk struggled with perhaps the worst student in history. Frustration building, I adjusted my grip and resumed the stance the Orsimer taught me.

"Now, come for me," he commanded, and I attacked. He easily blocked my first strike and pulled up short before the tip of his blade could slide into my throat. "Were you not taught the sword at your father's knee?"

I righted myself and scowled at him. "No," I said through gritted teeth. "I'm one of the weird ones whose parents didn't go for that sort of thing."

"I have not known a single Nord who wasn't trained in the basics, at least," he snorted. Suddenly, he swung his sword in a downward arc toward me. Instinctively, I raised my sword to block the blow, barely managing it with my skinny arms, and drove my elbow into his face.

He staggered back a step. Touching his lip, he found blood there. "Better."

I rubbed my arm where it hit his tusks. That _smarted_. "Must be nice having an arsenal in your mouth."

His brow twitched but he didn't say anything. Sighing, he conceded, "Perhaps the sword is not to your liking."

"The bow's good," I suggested. "Just keep me the hell away from the bad guys, and I'll be happy."

"Yes, it would be good if your aim were improved," he acknowledged with another poorly concealed grin. "I do not want... arrows up my ass."

"Hmm, I'd have to dig them out," I teased. "Not that you really put up too many obstacles to that sort of thing." Winking at his wide-eyed stared, I grinned. Good grief, he made it so easy. "Okay, so what's the trick, then? How do I aim this thing?"

He spent about an hour giving me a really thorough and intense lesson in bowmanship, which apparently involved a lot of touching. The angle of my shoulders needed adjustment, the set of my hips needed _very_ careful tending, my feet had to be just so... I swear, anyone else, and I would have thought it was a well-orchestrated seduction. I was certainly feeling a little warmer than I should, even after a bit of exercise, by the time we packed it in for the night.

"I will take first watch," he offered, his voice deeper and rougher than normal. He wouldn't look at my face, either, and I wondered what terrible offense I'd committed besides being unforgivably lame. I was pretty sure that, to an Orc, lameness was not tolerated.

Unpacking my bedroll and blanket, I settled down, but sleep wasn't coming. I was never much of a camper back home. Every little sound nearly sent me into the bushes. Every time I saw his silhouette beyond the low-burning campfire, walking around the perimeter of our camp, I almost screamed. The adventurer's life sounded so cool when I was sitting on the other side of the screen. On _this_ side, it was cold, the ground was hard, there was a root under my back that I couldn't avoid no matter where I moved... I didn't even have the comparative luxury of a chamberpot out here, for crying out loud.

And I was going to have to _really_ kill people. A lot of people, very likely. The agonized screams of those two burning Imperials came to mind, and I squeezed my eyes shut. I even covered my ears, as if that would help. _I hope they don't haunt me_, I thought desperately. _Nobody better summon their ghosts or whatever__ it is they do__ around here._

Thinking about dead things made me remember that there would be some undead in the Barrow. _Crap_. How many more completely foreign, alien things was I going to have to put up with this week?

Before I knew it, Mauronk was coming over. "Your turn," he said wearily. Had it been four hours already? Struggling up, I stamped my feet and rubbed my arms to get the circulation going again.

"So... you know if I see anything dangerous, I'm coming to get you, right?"

"I assumed you would," he replied as he unbuckled his steel breastplate. It was almost a disappointment that he didn't go farther than that; he kept his greaves and everything else on. Oh well. I hastily left, so he wouldn't think I was standing around waiting for him to take all his clothes off again.

As luck would have it, the rest of the night was uneventful. I kept walking around the camp, trying to ignore everything that didn't look like it was launching itself at me, like bunnies and foxes, and ignoring any sound that didn't have a growl in it. When the sun's light started peeking over the mountains to the east, I returned to camp.

I was a little startled by what I saw. Maybe I wasn't the brightest light in the room when it came to men, but it doesn't take a rocket scientist to recognize when a guy is touching himself in his sleep. I was _pretty_ sure he was still asleep, at least. And it wasn't like he was going to town or anything. Just... rubbing. But if it went on much longer, I had a feeling things would escalate.

Carefully backpedaling out of camp, I took a deep breath and shouted, "_I __swear to god_, if I get brambles in my ass, someone's gonna pay!" From where I was hiding, I could just see him jerk awake and hastily sort himself out. Relieved, I threw on an indignant, spoiled-brat-who's-just-had-to-pee-outside face, and stormed into camp.

"I miss that chamberpot," I groused without looking at him. Honestly, I was still too embarrassed. What if I blushed? I didn't want him to know I caught him with his hand down his pants, for heaven's sake.

As we trudged up the mountain path, which unlike the game was more of an animal trail than a well-worn road, I found myself watching his body move. Yeah, I'd seen him thoroughly naked _several_ times before, but never _aroused_. It was easy to laugh about his antics when I wasn't _also_ thinking about him in a sexual way. Which I was now. A lot. Not that I hadn't before, it was just... different. Like flirting with a guy you know you haven't got a chance with, and all of a sudden he kisses you... You didn't think there would be any consequences or _commitments_ because maybe you thought you weren't his type or he was gay or something, but _then..._ it stopped being _safe_. Not like I was afraid he would jump all over me, but now it was like finding out the guy you've got the hots for _isn't_ gay, and maybe you'd better settle down with the whole flirtation or he might get the wrong idea... except maybe that's exactly the idea you _want_ him to get...

Damn. I felt like my head was going to explode.

My brain continued trying to figure out what the hell it was thinking and how to deal with this new-ish view of Mauronk when he suddenly stopped and stuck an arm out, clobbering me across the chest in a ham-fisted effort to urge me into hiding. I nearly fell back down the mountain.

"Bandits," he hissed. "Bow."

I froze for a minute, then fumbled my hunting bow out. The first arrow I pulled out fell right out of my hands and skittered away back down the path. Without thinking, I almost broke cover to get it, but Mauronk grabbed the front of my armor and shoved me roughly back against the rocks we were hiding behind.

"Stay down!" he snarled.

Swallowing hard, I peeked around his shoulder. There it was. Not the Barrow, but some ruined, abandoned tower built into the mountainside on the way up to the Barrow. If I remembered right, there were usually only three bandits in it. Should be a piece of cake. A piece of very dry cake that someone forgot to put sugar in.

"There," he said in an undertone, pointing. I followed his finger, and saw a bandit standing obliviously at one end of the little bridge leading to the foot of the tower. He was completely out in the open, easy to see even though it was starting to snow, and not too tremendously far away. Easy shot. I nearly barfed.

"You can do this, Danni," Mauronk whispered. "They will kill us if we do not kill them first."

"We don't _do_ this shit where I come from!" I bit back under my breath. But I knew better than to sit there and argue with him at this point. Nocking a fresh arrow, I scooted out into the open where I could get a clear shot, aimed as he had shown me, and let it go.

Beginner's luck is highly overrated. The arrow missed him by at least two yards. I _could_ blame it on the wind, but dead people don't listen to excuses after the fact. The bandit pulled out a warhammer the size of my cousin's nine-year-old and charged. Another appeared out of nowhere and started shooting at us. She wasn't nearly as stupid as the Imperials in Helgen, and her first arrow grazed my shoulder.

Gasping with shocked pain, I faltered. Mauronk leaped out of hiding and engaged the first Nord with a roar. Staggering backward out of the immediate area of their fight, I shakily nocked another arrow, but was interrupted by the bandit's next shot going into my hip.

The sickening image of Boromir getting pincushioned in _Lord of the Rings_ came to mind, and I almost lost it. I jumped behind the rocks again and took some steadying breaths. Mauronk would _really_ be pissed at me if I let him die. Getting another arrow loaded, I staggered out again, and fired.

Luckily, because skill likely had nothing to do with it, the bandit woman was right in my sights, and my arrow went straight into her head.

It wasn't easy dealing with relief, triumph, and the urge to violently spew all at once. The pain in my hip was becoming so distracting, I wasn't sure I could help Mauronk at all, but I did my best. I shot the bandit in the side, mostly because he was only a couple yards away, so he was about as big as a barn from that distance. Just as Mauronk's sword cleaved through the bandit in a messy display of bones, muscle, and excessive amounts of blood on the snow, another figure barreled out of the tower.

In the heat of battle, I hadn't really registered the other bandits' races. They were human, that was about all I could be sure of. This one was an Orc. A really _big_ Orc. Granted, Mauronk was big too, but he wasn't charging at me with an axe.

The fight with the Nord must have taken a bit out of him because he didn't intercept the bandit right away. Shaking like a leaf, I nocked an arrow and shot, somehow managing to hit the Orc in the shoulder. He bellowed, but kept on coming. I started backing up, limping on my bum leg, dropping every other arrow I tried to fire, and he just wouldn't _stop_.

Apparently, when your death is coming, you get tunnelvision. I couldn't see anything but the Orc closing in. The axe came up, and I had to drop my bow and pull the sword I totally sucked at wielding. He swept the blade around, aiming for my head, just as my unsteady foot slid on an icy rock and dropped me on my ass. His axe clanged loudly into the rocks beside me, and he pulled back to give it another go. I couldn't do anything but cringe and hold my sword up, not even hoping it would block him at that point, because I knew it wouldn't.

He had yellow eyes. Big, angry yellow eyes I would see forever or for another half second, whichever came first.

Out of nowhere, a large object hurtled at my attacker and rammed him so hard into the rocks he dropped his axe. There was a flash of steel, the sickening sound of flesh being pierced, a gurgle, then the Orc fell face down.

A vicious adrenaline crash assailed me, and I began to shake. I couldn't move, couldn't think. The Orc bandit's face was turned toward me, and his eyes were still open. The game always discreetly closed their eyes for you, so you wouldn't freak out. I felt like he was promising me that he'd see me again, and this time Mauronk wouldn't be around to save me.

"Come," a deep voice said. I could barely hear him, there was so much noise. The wind was roaring in my ears, and there was still so much _screaming_. Were there other bandits? Did they have prisoners they were torturing? "Calm down, Danni, he is dead."

When my throat began to hurt, I realized everything else was quiet, the bandits dead. The screaming even quieted down, to be replaced by crying. By that point, I'd figured out that the noisemaker was me.

"You are wounded," he pointed out, still trying to get me to move. I couldn't stop _shaking_. My whole body was nearly convulsing. Taking my arm, he dragged me to my feet, then slung me carefully over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.

My eyes were so blinded by tears I didn't see where he took me until the wind had died down and there wasn't as much snow blowing on us. We were inside the tower. He settled me down against the back wall by the stairs, then dug his blanket out of his pack.

I had deliberately not looked at my hip the whole time, but now I took a peek. At some point, the fletched end had broken off, so it was just a piece of wood sticking out of me. But there was a huge blood stain on the armor skirting, and lots of it running down my leg as well. I'd completely forgotten about the arrow that cut my shoulder, and now _that_ wound started to sting like a bastard.

Mauronk worked fast, unbuckling my armor under the blanket so I wouldn't be too cold. When he got to the arrow, he paused.

"I'm going to pull it out. It will hurt," he warned apologetically. I just nodded. I couldn't speak, my jaw was clenched so tightly. Placing his palm over my hip and grabbing the shaft, he seemed to be counting to himself, then he yanked hard.

It was pretty fortunate we'd killed all the bandits at the tower, because the scream of pain that came out of me would have brought the rest of them down if any missed the fight.

He kept at it, and soon had my leather removed. I lay there shivering in my woolen underthings in spite of the blanket. I was pretty sure I was going into shock, but I could feel his hand on my hip, gently resting over the injury. He closed his eyes and his lips began to move.

A warmth spread through my body, starting at my hip, and I realized that the game left out a big chunk of what magic was all about here. I got the sense that he was speaking words to whatever healing spell he was using, but I didn't understand them. He seemed almost lost in the moment, too. And I could feel _other_ things as well.

Maybe it was because of his proximity to my pleasure center, but I could feel some definite _rippling_ sensations through my pelvic area. I didn't _think_ the designers included an orgasm spell, but I was starting to wonder as my breathing quickened and my face flushed. All I needed now was a good, throaty moan and an involuntary parting of the thighs to really freak the poor man out.

Too soon, Mauronk cut off the delicious healing and opened his eyes to check on me. The unexpectedly arousing feelings only lingered for a few seconds as memory of how close I came to dying roared back into the forefront. The shaking started again.

"I will build a fire, there in the doorway," he said. "It should help."

What would have helped immeasurably was a hug. But I hadn't been able to get my jaw working yet, so how was I supposed to tell the least considerate Orc on the planet that I needed living things around me right now? Someone that wasn't about to kill me, for a change.

The Orc bandit kept coming at me every time I closed my eyes. I hugged myself, since Mauronk was too far away and preoccupied with laying a fire. When he finished with that, he set out our bedrolls, putting mine a bit farther away from his than I wanted right now.

"Mauronk," I managed to growl out through clenched teeth, "next to yours. Please."

He paused and looked at me. Maybe he wasn't as unfeeling as I thought, because he just nodded briefly and did as I asked. He took out my blanket and put it over me as well. Then he helped me get up and move onto my bedroll.

I dared a peek at my shoulder, and saw that while there was blood there, the ugly wound was sealed up. I'd have a scar, but it was closed. I had to assume the blood was still on my leg, because I was damned if I was ready to look just yet.

Finally, he finished fussing around and started stripping off his armor. I really hoped he'd go all the way, because I wanted to be in his arms right now, and I didn't fancy having cold steel between us. But when he knelt on his pallet, he was still in his greaves and boots.

I was sitting up facing the fire, the blankets wrapped tightly around me. Glancing over my shoulder, I said quietly, "The rest, please."

"What?"

"Take off... the rest."

I actually _heard_ his swallow. "I... wear nothing beneath."

"I know."

"Are you... What are you asking of me, Danni?" he said awkwardly.

"Not... sex," I said. "I could have died. I just want... Hold me tonight. That's all. Just... hold me."

He let out his breath. "As you wish." I squeezed my eyes shut, listening to him unbuckle and discard the rest of his armor. He could have died, too. He had the world's worst ranged fighter backing him up, and I almost let him down.

Keeping my eyes on his face, I turned toward him and opened the blanket, so we could share it. He lay on his side, and gathered me into his arms. I pulled the blanket down over his naked backside for him.

"I know this is weird, and I'm really sorry for making you put up with it," I said.

"It is all right," he replied tightly. He wasn't looking at me, and his hand was on my back up near the shoulder blades as if he didn't want to get too familiar. My woolens were relatively thick; I'd made damn sure of that when I picked them out. Yet I could still feel him stiffening against me. "Forgive me," he breathed, his teeth clenched.

"It means you're not dead," I whispered, snuggling closer. "That's all I want to know."


	7. Temptation

**Temptation**

_Danni_.

How did he know my name, whispered so seductively in my ear?

If I turned my head, I'd see him, I knew it. All I could do was keep walking, up and up the path strewn with dead bodies. Was I Orpheus, forbidden from glancing behind lest Eurydice be lost to me forever? Or plain Danni, afraid to see that the dead were rising as I passed?

Their hands brushed my skin. I could feel it, all up and down my back. In front, a solid wall I knew was there to save me, but I couldn't get to the other side, couldn't get my arms around it far enough.

And all the while, a steady thumping, like a drum.

_Want me, Danni. Please._

It was _his_ voice, not the other's. The hands on my skin were warm, not cold with death. Slowly, consciousness returned, senses that had slept, awoke. But only for me.

Mauronk was still asleep, but he wasn't idle. One of his hands was up the back of my undershirt, and headed downward. The other gripped my shoulder, his arm under my head and around me tightly. Probably a little uncomfortable for him, I thought stupidly when I should have been wondering where his free hand was going.

He was holding me so close against him that I could feel _everything_. My cheek was pressed against his chest, the top of my head tucked under his chin. His beard tickled my face and almost made me sneeze. Whereas when I fell asleep earlier, he was just a little stiff, now he was fully erect. I held tightly to his waist with one arm, the other kind of squashed between us, immobile. Then his hand was going down the back of my underwear.

In the interests of full disclosure, I'd had men's hands down my pants before. This was not virgin territory, in any sense of the word. What shocked me was that _he_ was doing it. I got the impression Orcs and humans didn't mix this way. He'd really impressed upon me the idea that humans thought going to bed with Orcs was the world's most disgusting thing. I guess I just assumed the feeling was mutual.

Apparently not.

"Mauronk," I whispered. He was getting pretty worked up, judging by the quickening of his breathing and the movement of his hips. Not to mention the way he clutched and kneaded my backside. Delightful and not at all unwanted at any other time, but at the moment...

"_Mauronk_," I tried again, more urgently this time. I accompanied my voice with a sharp slap on his rear. He startled awake and froze.

Unfortunately, I couldn't see his face. I think I would have paid a king's ransom for the privilege when he realized what he was doing. He gulped; I felt it against my forehead. Slowly, as if afraid of spooking a really pissed off animal, he slid his hand out of my wool underwear.

"I... forgive me," he breathed. "I have no excuse."

"Yes, you do," I said quietly, a smile on my face. "You lied to me."

"I never lie," he replied indignantly.

"Okay, maybe not a _lie_, per se," I allowed, "but a definite omission of certain facts."

"What facts?"

"_You_ said Orcs and humans don't have sex," I explained.

He swallowed hard again. "We do not."

"Mm-hm. Not by _choice_."

"That is so."

"You didn't say they didn't _want_ to."

"Humans... do not. We are... ugly."

The way he said it made me kind of sad. "I don't think you're ugly, Mauronk."

"_Why_ do you not?" he demanded, and I got the impression that he didn't trust or accept what I was saying. "An Orc almost killed you. I thought... I assumed you would want distance from me."

Now I had to scoot out of his arms so I could look at his face. This was getting to the point where talking into his sternum wasn't doing it for me. Sitting up, I glared at him.

"I'm not stupid, Mauronk," I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest. "I _can_ tell the difference, you know."

He sat up as well. Now that I was inches away from him, I could see old scars on his body. He'd been in many battles before, but I had a feeling this was a new one.

"Humans _cannot_," he snarled, staring at his fists clenched in his lap. "We are all the same, in your eyes. Loyal warriors for the Empire, or thieves and murders like _that_ one. Often the last, not the first. No matter the emblem we wear or the deeds we do."

I felt like I was talking to an African American youth, lamenting the fact that everyone looks at him and sees a gang member or street tough, someone you can't trust.

"Look, Mauronk," I said carefully, "I should probably be straight with you. I'm... not really from the local area. Sort of... really far away, actually."

"It must be _very_ far, not to be aware of these things," he grumbled.

"You have no idea," I agreed, shaking my head. "Pretty much, so damn far away that... you're the first Orc I've ever seen."

He nodded. "Our numbers are less than they once were. War against humans diminished us, fighting alongside them has also reduced the population. It was not so many years ago that the Great War ended. Many were lost."

"Well, actually," I said uncomfortably, "it's not... attrition that makes me... unfamiliar with the way things are, apparently, supposed to be. Um... if I said... I come from a whole different world, would you think I was crazy?"

Slowly turning his head, he fixed me with that strange red stare of his. "What?"

I swallowed and shrugged. "I don't have any idea _how_ I got here, or _why_, but I'm from another world."

His eyes narrowed. "Oblivion?"

"Farther."

"That is... not possible." He shook his head. "No. You cannot be."

"It's true," I insisted. "Why wouldn't I know anything about swords? We don't use them anymore. It's been hundreds of years since we _did_."

"Then... in your world, humans and Orcs... are they allowed to wed?" he asked, and it tore my heart to hear the hope in his voice.

I shook my head. "No. Not because humans don't like Orcs," I said quickly when his face fell. "It's more like because... there _aren't_ any Orcs."

He frowned. "How can there not be Orcs?"

Shrugging, I said, "I don't know. Maybe we had them once, but we sure as hell don't now. No elves, either. You can scratch Khajiit and Argonian off the list, too. It's just wall-to-wall humans, all day, every day."

He looked shocked, and not at all satisfied. "I am truly the first you have met, then. I still do not understand why you do not flee from me in fear." Curling his lips around his tusks, he snarled, "We are aggressive. We look like monsters. Many think of us as beasts."

"Well, admittedly, you acted like a total beast in Helgen, but I can overlook that because of the overall stress of the day," I said. "Look, where I come from, it's considered... bad manners, I guess, to paint an entire race based on the actions of one member. It doesn't mean it doesn't happen, it's just... not considered polite, I guess."

"What 'race'?" he growled. "There is only _one_ where you come from."

"Hmph, you'd be surprised, the human capacity for self-division," I snorted. "Color, country, beliefs, culture... all much more important than they ought to be. Really kind of sucks, when you think about it."

He smiled a little. "I have seen it as well among Orcs," he said. "The Orcs of Orsinium are different from those in the mountain villages, unrecognizable from those in the strongholds here in Skyrim. We argue over our differences, and sometimes blood is spilled."

"Happens in every family," I agreed. "There's always _someone_ bringing up embarrassing things at the reunion. You just have to hope you can make it through a get-together without someone ending up in the hospital."

Chuckling, he nodded. "So you come from a world that does not know Orcs. Does it know war?"

"God, too much of it, if you ask me," I said, rolling my eyes. "But not _all_ of us are warriors. In fact, most of us go our entire lives without seeing any sign of it at the local level. There's no need to actively teach the kids how to defend themselves against attack if you live in a place that never sees action. Me, I was a secretary. I filled out paperwork and filed it. The absolute _worst_ wound you can get in that sort of scenario is a nasty papercut."

"Your world sounds...," he began, then paused as if searching for the right word.

"Dull? Boring? Pretty much. You get up in the morning, get dressed, drive to work, do boring, ineffectual things for hours and hours, drive home, eat dinner, and go to bed. That's pretty much the extent of it."

He grimaced, and I nodded. "Yeah, don't get me started. One could argue that my world has evolved past having to fight every day for a crust of bread or an inch of space, but there are still places where that happens. Just not anywhere near me. And god help you if you kill someone." Frowning, I said, "It's considered a _crime_, what we did. Attacking people who hadn't made any threatening moves, just because they _looked_ like criminals. Yeah, we'd get hauled away in chains for that."

"They would have killed us if they saw us first...," he pointed out, and I shook my head, interrupting.

"That wouldn't matter in the slightest. _Intent_ only means something if they've already done it. Then it's more like, did they _intend_ to kill you when they killed you, or was it an accident?"

"What is used to kill, then? If not swords."

"Guns, mostly," I replied. "They're ranged weapons, but not like bows. They're... metal tubes with a mechanism that fires a projectile. We _used_ to use swords, but somewhere along the line, we got squeamish about looking our enemies in the face, I guess, and started favoring distance. Now we not only make guns that can kill your ass from three hundred feet away, we have planes that allow us to drop a bomb on you, and we don't even have to be _in_ the plane to do it."

His mind seemed to be reeling from my descriptions, judging by the blank expression on his face. Grasping at my words, he mumbled, "Bomb?"

"Yeah, bomb," I said, nodding. "A bomb is an explosive. We make them big. I'll bet we've got some that would level Skyrim and make the surrounding provinces uninhabitable for hundreds of years, all in one go."

Mauronk's jaw fell open and he shuddered at the thought. "The humans in your world... are worse than _we_ are accused of being."

"Nobody fucks you up like a human," I agreed. "Cleverness, where I come from, is generally used to come up with new and exciting ways to make someone else really damn sorry they insulted your mother."

He stared at the area around his knees for a minute or two, probably thinking about what a lousy-ass world I came from.

"There are no Orcs," he said, as if he was just making sure.

"No Orcs."

"And... you do not fear me."

"Not at all."

"I... do not disgust you?" he asked quietly, glancing for maybe half a second at my face.

"No."

"Did I give you... comfort? You seemed... upset last night."

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. His cheeks actually darkened, the Orsimer equivalent of a blush, I think. Big, gruff, manly Mauronk, blushing like a teenager? Damn if that wasn't charming as hell.

"You made me feel safe," I assured him. "Protected. Alive. It was pretty nice knowing you were alive and well, too. I really thought I was going to blow it. I..." I faltered. Squeezing my eyes shut, I said quietly, "I was so afraid I'd see you die. And not... because I'd be at their mercy if you did. I'm kind of... fond of you, Mauronk."

"I am fond of you, as well," he replied, swallowing hard. He seemed to be waiting, maybe expecting me to say, 'ew, gross!' All at once, I remembered the words I heard him murmuring in his sleep: _Want me, Danni. Please._ It was like getting hit with a sledgehammer. I wondered if it was more than fondness that was plaguing him, and I was sort of caught between being flattered and being nervous.

"Um... just... fond?" I asked uncomfortably.

He looked even farther away, if that were possible. "I am sorry I... touched you so... intimately. It will not be repeated."

Of course, _that_ didn't sound very good at all. "It's okay," I said carefully. "I didn't mind. Not that much."

"Such liberties... should never be _taken_," he replied stiffly. "I am sorry."

"I forgive you," I said, shrugging my shoulders with resignation. I supposed it was best. Did I really want a horny Orc with a sword at my throat, or a shy, awkward Orc who respected me enough to apologize for an innocent fondle?


	8. Bravado

**Bravado**

Outside, the snow was still coming down pretty hard. I was damn glad for woolly underthings. Heading out, we took the trail leading around the peak, collecting those of my badly-aimed arrows we could find, as well as any left unfired on the bandits, along the way. I wanted to tell him everything; about how much I actually knew, but I figured the 'out of this world' story was enough of a shocker without adding 'your entire world is a game to me' to the mix. Because it wasn't. Not anymore.

Right about when we got within sight of the arches in front of the barrow, we were spotted. Dark brown leather stands out like a sore thumb against snow, even in a blizzard, apparently. Mauronk took the first arrow in the thigh, and staggered back under cover. Now I felt even worse than worthless, because I didn't have any magic to speak of. Even if I _could_ somehow channel magicka around here, I had no idea how to do it, and wouldn't have known how to use it if I did. Luckily, he had enough wherewithal to heal himself and bounce back on his feet. Good thing, too, because the first bandit came roaring around the rocks at us as soon as he did.

I was beginning to feel like a sack of potatoes again as he shoved me out of the way and blocked the guy's downward swing. I looked around for the shooter; he'd told me that morning that I had to keep my attention on casters and archers. He'd take care of lumbering hulks like this one.

For some reason, it was easier this time. I kept on the move, halting only a couple seconds to aim and shoot before moving again, and that pretty much kept the archer's arrows from doing more than grazing me. Even though I shook a little, and stumbled once because I was looking at _him_ not where I was going, I did okay. I took him out. But by the time I had that one down, Mauronk had _two_ on him.

He was being pressed into the rocks, and couldn't retreat any further. Standing still, I fired at will at the bandits' flanks. They were wearing hide armor with plenty of open, unprotected areas. The way Mauronk taught me to pull back with all I had, my arrows were piercing them like they were naked.

As you can imagine, nothing gets your attention quite like an arrow through the ribs. One of the men peeled off and charged at me. Maybe it was because he wasn't an Orc, or because I'd _been_ here before, facing this sort of thing, but I kept my cool, steadied my hand, and put an arrow into his neck.

Well, _that_ wasn't pleasant. He scrabbled at his throat with clawed fingers, gagging and choking, and fell to his knees. Then he pitched over backwards. Shaking myself, I turned my attention away from his writhing, agonizing form, and took aim for the remaining bandit.

My heart skipped a beat. Mauronk suddenly fell to one knee. Even from where I was standing, I could see him holding up a hand, maybe asking for mercy. He was done.

"Fuck _that_ shit!" I roared fiercely. "You did _not_ just drop my man!"

Pulling an arrow, I took aim and fired, stepped forward, pulled, fired... Yeah, he was now turning toward me, but I didn't let up. Where ever it was hiding before, it came out in that moment. I turned that bastard into Boromir, and stuck him so full of arrows, the Uruk-hai would have had me on their shoulders cheering my name in admiration.

"You're _my_ bitch now!" I yelled.

When the adrenalin rush died, and my enemies were sprawled on the cold ground bleeding out into the snow, I puked like I'd never puked before. It's a miracle my stomach didn't turn inside out and make a run for it out my mouth. Mauronk could have been expiring on the ground, and I was no help to him while incapacitated like that.

His groan shook me out of my puke attack, and I lurched to my feet. Staggering up to him, I dropped to my knees and looked him over. He was still lying on his side, beginning to shake.

"No," I whimpered. I grabbed his hand and slapped his face. "Heal yourself, Mauronk," I pleaded. "I can't. Please. You have to."

He feebly gestured toward his pack, discarded when the fight started. I scrambled over to it and tore through the contents, flinging them all over. The familiar red healing potion flask slipped into my hands as if it knew I needed it, and I hurried it to him. Lifting his head and rolling him toward me, I put the unstoppered flask to his mouth and trickled a bit past his lips.

"Don't you dare die on me," I whispered, my eyes blurring. I blinked, and tears fell on his face. I had no idea I was crying.

Little by little, his ragged breathing evened out, his olive color darkened to normal. Sighing with relief, I wiped my face roughly, hoping he wouldn't see how sopping wet I got worrying over him.

"Thank you, little one," he murmured, smiling a little. His eyes were still closed, and he seemed to be letting the potion do its work, but he was lying flat out in the snow, his backside likely getting soaked. I had to pry myself away from him to repack his things. He'd be pissed if I lost anything of his in my panic.

By the time I had everything jammed back into his pack in nothing like the neat order it was originally, he was sitting up with his head bowed and shoulders drooping. I knelt beside him again.

"Are you going to be okay?" I asked nervously.

He nodded. "Warhammers are... difficult to dodge."

The front of his chest piece had a huge dent in it, right over his left lung, and several minor dents across the rest. No matter what the game's attitude toward equipment repair was, _this_ reality damn well better have some. "Can you make it, or should we go back to Riverwood?" I asked.

"I will be fine," he assured me, then rose to his feet. Though he leaned against the rocks for a moment to steady himself, he didn't look too bad. Not on the outside, anyway.

"Does that... potion really work?" I asked.

"As well as it can," he replied, shrugging. "Time will always be the best healer, but when you do not have it, and you cannot use other means, it must do."

"Can you... teach me that healing spell of yours?" I asked. "We don't have any magic where I come from, so it's... well, I have no idea how to even start."

He turned toward me, still leaning against the rocks. "I am a poor teacher of such things. We should go to Winterhold. I have heard there is a school for mages there."

"That... that would be a really good idea," I said, nodding. "I just hope they know how to teach a total idiot from the ground up. I assume you came out of childhood knowing how to cast spells. I haven't got the first clue."

"You have learned the bow well enough in a short time," he shrugged. "You have a talent for it. Perhaps magic will come as naturally."

"Um, yeah, I suppose," I acknowledged. "But I think my suddenly flawless aim had more to do with proximity than amazing skill."

"Being closer _does_ make the target larger," he said with a grin, "and harder to miss."

Rolling my eyes, I lightly punched him on the shoulder. "All right, you've slacked enough. Ready to take on this bad boy?"

"It shall beg for mercy," he growled with amusement as he shouldered his pack.

* * *

><p>I stood behind him nervously as he slowly inched one of the huge double doors open enough to peek inside the tomb. Arrow nocked and ready, I tried to see past his shoulder. In the game, the only two living bandits in the front part were way the hell on the far side of a fifty-foot-wide room. I hoped they'd be similarly situated here.<p>

No dice. The real Skyrim gave you a room half the size. We practically walked into the middle of their luncheon.

All hell broke loose once more, with me trading arrows with the archer backpedaling toward the back exit and Mauronk pummeling the fighter to a pulp. This guy had a warhammer, too; my Orc buddy wasn't inclined to take another hit so soon after the first.

Distance apparently was my downfall. The archer had no trouble dodging my badly-aimed arrows, and managed to sink one in my shoulder. I squealed like a pig, I swear. Not very impressive, but that _hurt!_ No matter how hard I tried, though, I couldn't make contact, and wasted a ton of arrows, thunking them into walls and skittering them across the flagstones. Mauronk apparently grew impatient with this futile exchange and charged into the archer while she was busy mocking me. _That_ shut her ass up.

Sighing, he turned toward me with exasperation, and I hung my head in shame. God dammit, I sucked. Without looking at him, I shuffled around the room, retrieving arrows. The one in my shoulder was easily removed, though it hurt like hell doing it.

"Be still," he commanded, and set about healing me. Once again, that sensuous feeling of warmth and lust rippled through me. It was delicious, and I nearly slid to the floor on suddenly wobbly knees.

"Are you all right?" he asked with concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I replied. He didn't seem to realize what that healing spell was doing to me. Maybe everyone around here was so used to it, they didn't even register or care about it anymore.

"I think... perhaps you should try to get closer," he suggested carefully. "At least until your aim improves."

"Probably a good idea," I agreed.

About the only things that were consistent with the game version so far were the number and type of bandits, and the locked chest. I hunkered down by the chest while Mauronk rifled the corpses for valuables, and started fiddling.

The lock wasn't too hard to navigate. It seemed that the tumblers were few, and easily managed. After only breaking two picks, I got it open. And now the _real_ difference between the game and reality hit me full in the face.

This chest was _packed_. Whoever the hell these bandits were robbing, they were rich. Fully a third of the depth was taken up in septims. There were several pieces of silver, of the dinnerware variety, but undoubtedly fine and expensive. Necklaces, rings, gemstones, a couple of obviously enchanted armor pieces... No scrolls or books, but who cares about that crap? I just stared dumbly for a long time, not even acknowledging the Orc when he joined me.

"We cannot carry all of it," he said. "Leave it here, and if we have room, we'll take what we can on the way out."

"You're the boss," I breathed, still stunned. Closing the lid, I followed him as he began the descent down the rear tunnel.

Some things were consistent with my experience. Namely, the _huge_ number of vines and roots. It was like the floor had varicose veins or something. Quite _unlike_ the game, however, we didn't glide unhindered over the top. Nope, we stumbled, slipped, tripped, barged into each other, hit the walls, fell on our asses... If we hadn't been in a life or death situation, we would have let loose with some major laughter. As it was, we were in tears from trying to stay quiet as he clattered like a junkyard and I face-planted with a squeak every few feet.

Eventually, the floor cleared somewhat and the funhouse atmosphere sobered a bit. Thankfully, our passage, though loud to us, seemed to be harder to hear the farther away you got. The air was rather thick with dust, in spite of the torches that indicated the bandits had explored at least this far. My allergies were flaring up big time, and I sneezed uncontrollably for several minutes, halting our progress. Not a god damned tissue in the place, either. I had to dig out the skirt of my slut dress and blow my nose in it.

"Not a word," I warned when Mauronk's brow raised at my choice of handkerchief.

We finally came around a bend and saw the heavily pierced corpse of a bandit next to a lever. On the back wall above a barred door, a landing ran with great pillars at either end and a space for a third between. Rolling my eyes, I said, "I've got this," and trotted into the torchlit room. Noting the totem animal emblems on the three large pillars' face carvings, one of which had been toppled onto the floor below, I went to the puzzle pillars in niches against another wall and turned them to the appropriate emblems. Then I gestured to the Orc. "Pull it."

Eying the dead guy, he shrugged and pulled the lever. The barred door opened. Turning to me, he frowned. "How did you know?"

I blinked. _Good luck talking your way out of __**this**__ one, Danni_, I thought in a panic. "Lucky guess?" I pointed out the faces, the emblems, the puzzle pillars... and shrugged lamely. He didn't look convinced, but let it go, leading the way through the door.

One spiral stair, three skeevers, and a web-laden descent further along, we found ourselves facing the last thing in the world I wanted to even remember was down here: the big-ass spider from hell. Excuse me, the Big-Ass Spider from Hell. We'll call him BASH, shall we? I could see its big hairy body nestled snugly up against the ceiling. Why bother with a concealing hole when you're as big as a god damned truck? The only bright spot in this situation was that there was only one of them. When we broke through the webbing and started into the room, I was taking up the rear. Like, about twenty feet behind him, sort of guarding our rear. He glanced over his shoulder at me curiously about the same time the BASH uncurled its legs and came down from the ceiling.

And that's pretty much all I remember.

The next thing I knew, someone was slapping my face and calling my name desperately. I was on the floor, for some reason, looking up at a worried Mauronk. A worried Mauronk with a fresh slash across his forehead and spider goo smeared all over his chestplate.

"Are you all right?" he asked when my eyes opened.

"Yeah, I think so," I mumbled. He unceremoniously dragged me to my feet.

"We must hurry," he said, pulling me into the spider room. "I have slain the spider and freed a bandit trapped in its web, but he attacked me and ran. We must follow; I believe he has what we are looking for."

I nodded as I stumbled along in his wake. It occurred to me that getting over my fear of spiders might be a good survival tactic in this world.

As we ran down the corridor past the BASH's lair, we met the bandit coming back out like the hounds of hell were on his tail. Mauronk caught him and swung him into the wall, banging his head hard.

"Why did you attack?" he snarled, pinning the hapless jerk against the wall by the throat.

"Take it, I don't care, just let me go!" He kept glancing past Mauronk. I looked, and nearly crapped.

Zombie movies back home showed us a pretty ridiculous kind of slow-shuffling, groaning, barely-held-together zombie that we could easily escape from. The Elder Scrolls games didn't think we'd be scared enough by something like that, so they gave us those headless, armless zombies that could just about outrun you. Then along comes Skyrim, and you get these dreugr who look like withered husks, but move like they've got a purpose, use magic, and some can even Shout.

But no matter what the games threw at us, it was just a game. A fun little _game._ No dead men walking in our neighborhoods, no risen corpses plaguing our workplaces, none of that shit. Oh, to be young and naïve again.

Two dreugr were heading our way, undoubtedly flushed out by jerk-off here when he stupidly ran into their chamber without a care in the world. About like _I _probably would have, come to think of it.

"Get the claw from this piece of shit," Mauronk growled, nearly throwing the guy at me, then he charged right into the dreugr with a roar. Startled, I turned to the aforementioned piece of shit, and found a knife in my face.

"Oh, you've got to be _kidding_ me," I griped. Deciding that the best way to deal with any situation was to address it like Indiana Jones would, I hauled off and kicked the guy in the balls, dropping him to his knees. Okay, maybe Indy wouldn't have racked the guy, but he _did_ pull a gun on a swordsman. I sort of... extrapolated from there. Anyway, while he was trembling and whimpering, I rifled his pockets and pack until I had the claw. I stuffed it into my own pack and turned to help Mauronk out.

By then, he had one down and the other looking pretty... well, _dead,_ and missing an arm, but still up and moving around. I nocked an arrow and aimed at the dreugr's face, managing to sink the shaft into its stomach. Yeah, I pretty much sucked, but at least I hit it. My second shot went clean past its shoulder, but it was _close_ to its head. Third time's a charm, in most cases, but not this one. By the fourth attempt, Mauronk got a good clean shot, and beheaded the thing. Sighing, I turned around to see if that bandit was still around, but he'd high-tailed it out of there as soon as he could walk again.

"Did you get it?" he asked, slightly out of breath. I nodded, and pulled it out to show him.

Now that I could get a good look at it, it was really... ugly as all hell. Whoever thought they were reproducing a dragon's claw had obviously never seen a living specimen, because this thing looked more like a chicken foot to me. Still, it had the three totem animals on the palm, so once we found the door, we'd be able to get through it.

Except Mauronk started heading back toward the entrance.

"Um... where are you going?" I asked.

"Back to Riverwood," he said, stopping and turning to look at me curiously. "This _is_ what was stolen, is it not?"

"Well... yeah, but... there's... more to this place," I replied awkwardly. "Don't you want to... you know, explore?"

"Danni," he said with a sigh, rubbing his forehead, "what are you not telling me?"

"What makes you think...," I began innocently, and he cut me off harshly.

"You knew about the riddle," he snapped. "And now you do not want to stop while we are ahead and still alive. What _else_ were you told about this place that you have not shared with me?"

Whether he realized it or not, he'd just given me an out by implying I had some secret mission I hadn't divulged. One look at his face, though, and I knew I couldn't lie to him. My shoulders slumped and my head bowed.

"Maybe you'd better sit down, Mauronk. This'll take awhile."


	9. Illusions

**Illusions**

"So... my world is a game to you," Mauronk said slowly, brow furrowed.

"No," I said carefully, "that's not... _exactly_ what I said. Where I come from, there's an _illusion_ of your world, and _that's_ the game. _This_ is horribly _real_. As are you."

"Thank you, I think," he growled.

"I don't mean _you're_ horrible... never mind," I sighed. Rubbing my forehead, I contemplated just telling him it was a joke, ha ha, really had you going, didn't I?

"It is difficult to imagine," he said, shaking his head.

"Yeah, well, there's a technology gap you wouldn't believe," I grumbled. "It doesn't begin and end with the plumbing, that's for sure. I just can't draw a parallel with this world. There's nothing to connect the ideas. Illusion's the best I've got."

"How do you... play this game?"

Faltering a little, I tried to think of a way to convey the whole idea of game avatars. "Um... it's sort of like... when you're dreaming. You see yourself in these fantastic places, but your physical body isn't really there. A representation of you is there. That's sort of... _loosely _what I mean. Only with the game, you can make your representative look any way you want."

He mulled this concept over in his mind. I had to admit, he was handling it better than I thought he would. At least he wasn't freaking out. "Any way you want?"

"Yes."

"Even... an Orc?"

"Even an Orc," I said, grinning.

"So... you _have_ seen Orcs."

"In the _game_, I have," I clarified. "Seeing one of you in reality is... different."

"Are we better or worse, in reality?"

Had I not experienced his exact opposite charging at me with an axe, I might have responded in a flirty manner, but at the moment, I was rather torn between the two of them. "Well... um... some of you are scary bastards."

He winced, and I felt like shit for saying it. "Not _you_, Mauronk," I insisted hastily. "_You're_ a sweetheart. I mean that nasty guy who almost took my head off. _He_ sucked."

Grunting a laugh, he shook his head. "My father would be ashamed of me, if he heard _anyone_ call me a 'sweetheart.'"

"It'll be our little secret, then," I said, winking.

Standing up, he drew his sword once more. "All right. What is so important that we must keep going?"

"There's a wall," I replied, stringing my bow in preparation. "It's a very special wall. We have to fight our way down there and... look at it."

"Look at it."

"Yeah. And fight a nasty draugr."

"Very nasty?"

"Extremely nasty."

"What stands between us here, and this... wall?" he asked, edging cautiously toward the hallway leading further into the tomb.

"Oh, you know," I said quietly, my voice beginning to shake with nerves. "Dead guys. Some of them still wandering around. Tomb stuff. That sort of thing."

Mauronk chuckled. "No more riddles?"

"Um... if I'm not mistaken, there should be a blade trap or two at some point. It might be fun to lure some draugr into them. Cut them into more manageable pieces."

"I have seen these things," he nodded. The hallway curved into the first room, where the bandit must have turned around with the draugr hot on his tail. "They are deadly. We will have to be quick." Glancing back at me, he added, "As you likely know."

"Yeah. Mess you up, those things," I muttered.

The tomb opened up before us, the niches in the walls filled with wrapped corpses or bare skeletons. A central pillar supported the roof. It was strange to see lit torches here, though it was like this in the game. I honestly thought that the real version of the tomb would be a lot darker. Maybe dead guys needed light too?

Luckily, the bandit didn't attract them all when he blundered into the room. There was still one waiting for us, this one an archer. It caught us by surprise, barely missing my head with its first shot. I came closer than ever before to wetting my pants when I heard and _felt_ the arrow whistle past my ear. Mauronk dodged and darted around the pillar, allowing me a clear shot. And leaving me wide open to attack. _Thanks a lot; I__'ll remember __**this**__, you bastard._ Nocking an arrow with shaking hands, I fired off my first shot and dove after him. I didn't see whether my arrow hit, but I was busy getting under cover, so I thought I had a good excuse.

Mauronk barreled into the draugr, ramming it with his shoulder, then started hacking away. I unloaded a few more arrows, two of which actually went into it. I was pretty thrilled, a little cocky, and totally not watching my back. Something hit me hard across my should blades, sending me flying into Mauronk. It hurt so badly, I couldn't breathe for a minute. I couldn't expand my lungs, couldn't even remember _how_ for a second. I dimly noticed him drop the first draugr and attack what must have been a second, but I was fast losing consciousness.

_G__ods, don't let me die here_.

The next thing I was aware of, I was lying naked on the stone floor with Mauronk on top of me, kissing me and furiously pounding away. My hands were gripping his bare backside, digging nails into his hide, and desperately begging him to _fuck me harder_. I wanted this so badly, it was such a relief to finally have him, I couldn't get enough, my legs were locked around his thighs, hips rocking to his rhythm, sweat pouring, getting _so close_, god dammit, don't stop, don't you _dare_ stop, oh my god, yes yes yes, _oh my god_...

A stinging slap across my face shook everything loose, and it was all gone, except the lingering aftershocks of one _hell_ of an awesome orgasm.

My armor was still on, though I was indeed lying on the floor. Mauronk was still dressed, uncharacteristically, and looking at me with shock and... something else. And my hands... son of a bitch. Buried between my legs. How adorable. I yanked them free. At least my underthings were still in place.

"Whuh," I gasped out, not really verbally coherent yet. My breaths were heaving, trying to fill lungs that had been deflated by a mighty blow, then flushed out by apparently imaginary sex. "What... was that?"

He was shaking all over, but I couldn't tell if he was afraid or _really_ turned on. Whatever was going through his mind, he just shook his head helplessly. "I just... healed you," he replied.

"Oh shit, what did I do?" I whispered. Did I do more than just...? Good gods, like that wasn't enough. I could feel the blush scorching my face as I struggled to sit up.

"I cannot... explain," he stammered. Now he couldn't look me in the eye. "I did not even _touch_ you."

Could've fooled me. I could still _feel_... oh lordy. It was like... well, _really_ having sex. And pretty _rough_ sex, at that. There was the sensation of having been penetrated still lingering, for starters. If that was just the spell going haywire, it was getting stronger and more... invasive.

I didn't think I could possibly have been more humiliated if I had thrown myself on him and he told me he wasn't that kind of Orc. Even though I _knew_ nothing happened, it _felt_ like something did. Something really, _really_ satisfying and wonderful and _god damned good_. Good enough to want a repeat, let me tell you.

"I... I... did nothing but heal you," he stammered. "You rolled over on your back and... you... uh... started..."

"Did I _say_ anything?" I asked in a tiny little voice. Gods, I hoped it was just a bunch of moaning and no... _names_ or anything...

Unfortunately, he nodded, and the fact that he couldn't look at me when he did sort of gave me a pretty big-ass hint that names were named, and no innocents could be protected from here on out.

"I don't think I want to know any more," I groaned, covering my face with my hands.

"Perhaps... potions...," he said unsteadily.

"Yes," I quickly agreed. "Yes, potions would probably be... a really good idea."

Mauronk awkwardly rose and offered his hand. I let him help me stand, but I couldn't look at him. I was so embarrassed I couldn't even joke about it. I swear, though, if he hadn't had his hand down my shorts a matter of hours before, I would have thought he wasn't interested now. But he had a point: If his healing spells were going to send me into a sexual frenzy every time, it probably wasn't a good idea to do it _here_.

"Your aim is improving," he ventured. Bless his heart for bravely trying to refocus on the matter at hand.

"Thanks," I said, nodding stiffly. "Let's... uh... keep going, shall we? Mind the pressure plate there."

For a couple more sections of the tomb, I was kind of in a fog. The amazing thing was, my shooting became almost automatic, and without me screwing it up with actual _thought_, pretty damned accurate. I missed a lot less than usual, anyway. But when we cleared the room leading to the hallway with a blade trap, I woke up.

Through the swinging blades, I could see the 'sleeping' form of a draugr standing in its alcove directly across from us.

"Watch this," I grinned, and aimed. The arrow, miraculously, passed through the hallway without ricocheting off any of the blades, and thunked right into the draugr's... alcove. Figures I couldn't hit it when I was actually concentrating on it. It didn't matter, though; that was enough to wake its ass up.

"Danni," Mauronk warned, assuming a fighting stance. I patted his shoulder confidently.

Damn, I loved doing this. The draugr roared, pulled its axe, and charged into the hallway toward us. The first blade missed it by a hair, but the second nailed it pretty hard. It staggered and shook itself, took another hit on the backswing, cleared the second blade, and got cleaved by the third.

"See?" I said, spreading my hands. "Easy peasy. Draugrs are dumb."

Straightening and smiling a little, the Orc shook his head. "You wait here. I have done this before."

I sobered immediately. Glancing at the draugr lying in two or three pieces in the hall, I nearly panicked. "Be careful," I squeaked. He just shrugged, sheathed his weapon, and stood ready.

At least he was taking it seriously. He watched the blades, noting the timing of the swings, then darted forward. Exactly the same way I always did it in the game, he leaped from one 'neutral' zone between blades to the next. All three of them missed him. I almost fainted with relief when he made it to the other side and pulled the chain that disabled them. I quickly passed through and joined him.

We could hear the distant sounds of a waterfall as we crept along, then the ornately carved passageway opened into a large cavern with a stream running through it. Against the far wall were a pair of sarcophagi, one of which burst open and ejected a crabby-looking draugr. They were like jack-in-the-boxes around here. I didn't think, didn't even really try very hard, and stuck it with two out of four shots before Mauronk got to it for the killing blow.

Killing dead guys was, evidently, much easier on the conscience than killing live ones.

Another chest was here, but it was more of a small burial coffer than a gigantic treasure chest like you'd see in the game. Blink and you'd miss it, kind of small. I popped it open and took out about two dozen gold septims, what looked like an amethyst of unknown quality, and a silver ring that had an almost opalescent sheen to it. I showed it to Mauronk.

"Hmph," he snorted, turning it over in his hands. "Enchanted." He slipped it on one of his fingers and looked like he was listening. I'd wondered how people in this reality could tell what was enchanted and with what spell. Apparently it involved actually putting on the item and _feeling_ it.

"Restoration spells," he said uncomfortably, taking off the ring. "Makes them more... powerful."

Without a word, I snatched the ring from his hand and flung it across the room to _plunk_ into the water under the falls. "I'd say your spells are powerful enough, thank you very god damn much."

He chuckled a little uncomfortably, unable to look at me since I just _had_ to bring _that_ up again. Shaking my head and rolling my eyes, I turned toward the rock wall where the stream led to a tunnel barred with a metal grate. Beside the grate was a pull chain, which I yanked on. The grate rose.

"Come on," I grumbled, stomping through the streambed. The tunnel curved, then a side passage appeared. I led the way in, muttering curses under my breath because it wasn't this tight a squeeze in the game. At one point, the rocks were so close together that Mauronk's chest plate barely made it through. The shrieking, scratching noise was bad enough to make me shudder with horrible, fingernails-scraping-a-blackboard chills.

The side passage led to a wider cavern and the stream continued on until it tumbled out into a deep sinkhole. Sunlight poured in from the wide open roof, making it really easy to see the draugr shuffling about below us. I took a shot at it, missed by a wide margin (thinking about what I was doing again), and had to fight the damn thing when it took another tunnel up to meet us.

We came to this large room with a ledge running around the back wall, stairs leading up to the ledge, and an elevated bridge stretching across the room from the ledge to another hall. As soon as we stepped into the room, it was like a motion sensor picked up our arrival and sprung the first draugr from his coffin to our left. Mauronk hesitated in his attack to allow me a few shots, then he charged in to finish it off. I turned toward the bridge and ledge, and saw two more racing down the stairs toward us.

I tried really hard not to think about it, just to let myself sort of become the bow, or whatever zen-like attitude was required, and swung up to shoot an oil lamp dangling from the ceiling. My arrow had just split the rope, dropping the lamp, and I jumped up with triumph at such an unbelievably great shot, when I realized Mauronk had charged up to engage the draugr.

The oil slick on the floor went up in flames, and I stared in horror as the edge caught the Orc's armor on fire. His momentum carried him a step or two in, then he leaped back, howling in agony. I raced up and dragged him back, then knocked him down. _Stop, drop and roll. Stop, drop and roll_, I kept repeating to myself, practically beating the flames out with my bare hands.

"I'm sorry," I sobbed when the fire was out and I could see the damage. "Oh god, Mauronk, I'm so sorry."

"Potion," he croaked. I nodded and fetched one from his pack. Once the potion started working, the burns healed, though he would have a few scars. But the worst...

He reached up and touched his chin.

"I'm really sorry," I whispered.

"Fuck," he growled, rubbing the charred, crumbling remains of his beard off.

"You still have your mustache," I offered.

"I look a fool with just a mustache."

I tilted my head to appraise him. "You look good, actually. Not bad at all."

"I prefer the beard."

"I like it too, but... It'll grow back."

He grunted like he didn't believe me. Bowing my head, I said, "I should have told you what I was planning. I'm really sorry."

"Yes, you should have," he growled. "Next time, hmm?"

"Yeah, next time I'll tell you."

From here, we crossed the bridge into yet another tunnel. I was starting to get really tired of the Barrow. The carved, arched hall eventually led us to the final door. Or penultimate door, since it wasn't the puzzle door the golden claw was for.

The _final_ door was across a long room with several richly carved reliefs on the walls. I didn't investigate them; we were almost there. The moment of truth.

"Now what?" Mauronk asked, looking skeptically at the puzzle door. I fished the claw out of my pack and checked the three images carved into the gold. I matched the images with the correct animal on each of the three rotating rings in the center of the door, then fit the claw into the center keystone. Taking a deep breath, I turned it.

The great, heavy stone door rumbled, the rings spun to a single image, then the door began to sink into the floor. So much dust was kicked up, my allergies went nuts once more and I had to soil my slut dress again.

Ascending one last set of ancient stairs, we came into the huge chamber where the dragon wall stood. I was terrified. The weight of an entire world would come slamming down on my shoulders the moment I stood in front of that thing. Unless...

I glanced at Mauronk. He met my gaze uncertainly. It suddenly occurred to me that I could be mistaken. _He_ might be the Dragonborn, not me. Wow, _that_ would be a relief. I wouldn't mind tagging along, if he needed any help. Just so long as the heavy lifting could be shoved onto _his_ shoulders.

Yes, that would make sense. The Eight or Nine Divines, however many there were, wouldn't be super retarded enough to dump something as important as a dragon's soul on a lame-ass idiot from another world. That would be ludicrous. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Yeah. It wasn't going to be me, because _nobody's_ that fucking stupid.

"Okay," I said in a low voice. "We go up to that wall and... sort of wait for something to happen. Once it does, we'll do a touchdown dance, then the nasty draugr busts out of his coffin and tries to ruin our day. You ready?"

Shrugging, Mauronk just grunted and nodded. We crossed the cavern, the bridge over the stream running through the center, then ascended the stairs up to the wall standing at one end of a large dais.

Almost as soon as we set foot on the dais, the draugr overlord's coffin burst open. We didn't even get a moment to glance at that dragon wall thingy before we were up to our armpits in dead guy Shouting. I helped Mauronk the best I could, shooting furiously. He used his body as much as his blade to take down the undead menace, staying too close for the thing's attacks to put space between them. I circled around behind and unloaded several arrows into the overlord's backside because I was aiming for its head. Figures.

Thing was, I was standing right in the curve of the dragon wall, and _nothing_ was happening there. No blue-glowing runes, no snakey tendrils of blue energy, _nothing_.

I was so distracted by the anti-climactic _nada_ that I barely noticed when the draugr collapsed in a heap. Standing in front of the wall, I just stared at it as if by looking stern and expectant, it would shake itself from whatever daydream it was indulging and get busy with the _thu'um_ installation.

"Did it happen? What you expected?" Mauronk asked when the dust settled.

"Um... I, uh... guess... not," I said uncertainly. Shaking myself, I turned away and faced him. "There's a dragonstone inside whatshisname over there. Can you... uh... dig around a bit and come up with it? Then we're leaving. I think we're done here."

His eyebrows rose, but he didn't ask any more questions. Dragonstone in hand, we left Bleak Falls Barrow and I didn't say anything all the way back to Riverwood.


	10. Joining

**Joining**

Wow. Neither _one_ of us was the Dragonborn? Who the hell _was_, then? So... what the hell was I _doing_ here? Satisfying someone's idea of a sick joke or something?

Which immediately put me in mind of Sheogorath. Yeah, he'd _definitely_ do something like this.

The weird thing was, I felt a little insulted. No, I absolutely did _not_ want to be the Dragonborn and have all the stupid-ass, world-saving responsibilities associated with it, but... what, I wasn't _good_ enough? Actually, no, I wasn't, but that was beside the point.

On the other hand, I couldn't _possibly_ succeed on that questline in reality. Oh yeah, in the _game_ it was a piece of cake. Sure. But this wasn't the game. It wasn't even a pale substitute of the game. _Lives_ were at stake, whereas in the game, nobody got hurt if you fucked up. Well, nobody _real_, anyway. And if someone important died, you had the option to reload a saved game where they were still alive.

If anything happened to Mauronk, it would be permanent. And my fault.

In my room back at the Sleeping Giant inn in Riverwood, my leather armor lay in a heap on the floor, and I sat on the bed in my woolen underthings, hugging myself against the chill. There was no reason why I should be upset about being spared the last thing in the world I wanted to have happen to me, but it rankled regardless, and that just pissed me off more.

The knock on the door startled me. The door opened, because I _still_ didn't know how the hell to lock the damn thing, and for a moment I tensed. Then I relaxed. As I should have expected, it was Mauronk.

"Are you all right?" he asked awkwardly. "You should eat. I brought you something."

I just shrugged and waved him in. He set the wooden tray on the little end table for me, but I didn't even look at what he brought. I leaned back against the wall and hugged my knees.

"Do you wish me to leave?" he said quietly.

"No. Sit with me," I said with a sigh. I finally noticed he'd taken off his steel armor and wore a simple tunic and pants. Very loose pants that couldn't really hide... oh hell.

No, he wasn't 'sporting wood,' as my male friends would say, but... Holy gods, what was I thinking? He sat next to me, and I couldn't get that vision out of my head, of him all over me, _inside_ me... I felt like a total freak. Chewing my lip in agitation, I tried to clear my mind of the nearly overwhelming memory of what happened, as if it really _did_ happen.

"I offended you," he said quietly.

Wincing slightly, I shook my head. "No. It's not you. It's all me."

"What was supposed to happen? At the wall?"

Gods, I didn't want to tell him this. It was probably ten thousand times worse than 'your world is a game.'

"Mauronk," I said flatly, "you know that stupid shit I told you about? The whole... game thing?"

"Yes," he replied. I could hear wariness in his voice. Maybe he thought I was going to say it was a lie, or some wild story I made up. Oh, if only...

"In that game, the... quest, I guess... the main reason they picked _this_ time to focus on, is because the dragons come back, and... a Dragonborn appears."

"Dragonborn," he repeated uncertainly. "What is that?"

"The Dragonborn is someone who... well... has the soul of a dragon," I said awkwardly. "Something like that, anyway. Walls like that one we saw are... magical, I guess, and sort of... sense the presence of the Dragonborn. They teach a word. A Shout. The locals call it a _Thu'um_."

He didn't say anything for several moments, and I just waited him out. Take it in, big guy. It's weird, but it's your world.

"Did it teach a word?" he asked quietly. I could feel him looking at me, and shook my head. "So... you do not have a dragon's soul?"

"No," I replied, and I could hear a shade of disappointment in my voice. "You apparently don't, either."

"What does it mean? I do not know what a Dragonborn _is_. What they _do_."

"Well, the Dragonborn is like... the ultimate dragon slayer, I guess," I explained. "They're pretty much expected to fight dragons and save the world." I chuckled a little. "Narrow miss, huh? Imagine _me_ with that on my shoulders."

I didn't have to look at him to know he was imagining me up against a dragon when I couldn't even stay conscious long enough to fight a spider. Probably remembering how I nearly wet myself in Helgen, as well. Yeah, Skyrim would have been doomed for sure.

"That... would have been...," he began cautiously.

"The most horrible thing to happen in this world since the Oblivion Gates opened," I growled. "There's nothing funny about dragons running wild across the whole province, burning everyone and everything they come across because the one person with the power to stop them is a complete lame-ass. I hope the gods chose someone with at least _some_ skills that might come in handy."

"You might yet be formidable in battle," he said, and chuckled. "If you do not think about it, you shoot well. More practice will make you quite deadly."

"Why, you flatterer," I snorted sarcastically. "To my ally or my enemy?"

"You have not shot _me_ in the ass yet, though you promised you would," he pointed out, his grin broadening.

"There's still time," I replied, bumping his shoulder with mine in a companionable sort of way, then added in a teasing tone, "You keep showing it in public, I might lose my concentration and nail you."

"I move too quickly," he said, and began laughing. "You would have to run very fast to catch me."

"Is that a challenge?" I asked, arching my eyebrows and looking sidelong at him.

"If you believe you can best me," Mauronk said with a superior note in his voice.

"Oh, game on, dude," I smirked. "Your sweet ass is as good as mine."

All of a sudden, his mood changed, growing serious. He stared at me as if I'd said something completely unexpected. I just held his gaze steadily.

"You do not jest," he said quietly, his lips barely moving.

"I'm curious, Mauronk," I murmured, "why you take your clothes off so much. Not that I'm complaining." No, not complaining _at all_.

He looked away from me, and I swear his cheeks got a smidgen darker.

"I do not even think about it anymore," he said evasively.

I wondered if waiting him out would make him keep talking, but it didn't seem to be working. After about a minute, I prompted, "Is there a reason for it?"

He bowed his head, avoiding my eyes. "When I left my home, and was no longer among my own people, I was... stared at. Ridiculed. Spat upon. Humans and _mer_ alike. They expected a beast. They watched, waiting for me to... act like one." He winced and rubbed the back of his neck. "Always, their eyes upon me. Even when they did not call me 'filthy Orc,' their eyes said it. I did not want them staring any longer, so I... suppose... I gave them reason _not_ to."

How anyone could look at this man and not see his beauty, savage and wild as it was, baffled me.

He glanced at me, and grunted a humorless laugh. "I have not been very successful turning _your_ eyes away."

Well, _that_ was embarrassing. "I'm sorry," I mumbled, looking away. I could feel my face heating up. "I don't mean to stare, honestly. You're just... different. Not in a bad way," I said hastily. "Different in a _good_ way."

"It is my _difference_ that makes them stare," he growled. "And you."

"I don't mean to offend you," I said weakly. This wasn't going well at all. How could I have misread... dammit, _hand down my pants_. That's a pretty clear signal, where I come from. "I thought... I guess I thought wrong."

"What did you think?" he asked. By his tone, he sounded a little surprised. "I am what all believe me to be. I cannot even..." He clamped his mouth shut and grimaced. "What I did to you... You have every reason to despise me."

"Look, I understand," I said defensively, not really sure what the hell he was talking about. If it was _his_ behavior that was so out of line, why was he accusing _me_ of staring at him and making him uncomfortable? He wasn't making sense. "You were asleep, having some kind of dream..."

"Not that!" he roared, and I jumped back. Good gods, he was getting pissed. I hadn't seen him this agitated since Helgen. "The healing spell. It was unforgivable. I do not understand how you can look me in the face without... striking me."

"Oh," I said. I was beginning to grasp his problem. It wasn't _that_ I was looking at him; it was the _way_ I was looking. Apparently, he didn't think he deserved it. "Is there... something about that spell you need to tell me?"

He shook his head resignedly. "I know very little about the schools of magic. It was never an interest. But... it was clear... in your mind, at least..." He swallowed hard, unable to look at me. His breathing quickened, and he seemed on the verge of a breakdown. Or one hell of a painfully embarrassing confession. "That I was... raping you."

"No," I said, shaking my head quickly. "No."

He gritted his teeth and snorted angrily. "Yes. You called me by name. You said I was fucking you." He winced. "I told you. Humans do not have sex with Orsimer by _choice_. So... it was... it was unwanted. When it is unwanted, it is rape."

"Okay, I agree with that," I said, nodding. "But I _don't_ agree that you raped me. To begin with, there was no physical contact."

"What does _that_ matter?" he snarled. "Whether it was your mind or your body, it was _not wanted_."

"Did you do it on purpose?" I countered. He blinked for a moment, then shook his head.

"I do not know how it happened, or why."

"Well, then," I said with a shrug. "An accident. A weird... side effect. I'm not from this world, remember. We don't have magic where I come from. So... you know... I probably don't react like... the natives. Right?"

"I suppose," he allowed, though grudgingly. He seemed bent on beating himself up about it.

"Mauronk," I said seriously, "I'm not mad at you. Honestly. And... um... who said it was unwanted?"

He looked startled. Speechless. His mouth hung open a little. I smiled at him.

"I look at you because... you're a beautiful man," I said softly, edging closer to him. "You don't look any different than a human, really. Except in the face." I reached up and caressed his cheek. Now his breathing was quickening for a different reason. He closed his eyes as I drew my thumb down his tusk. My gaze flicked down, and a slight smile spread across my face; he was _clearly_ enjoying what I was doing. "Stay here tonight, Mauronk," I whispered. "Preferably sober."

"What are you asking of me, Danni?" he said breathlessly.

"Exactly what you _think_ I'm asking," I said, and leaned in to press my lips to his. It was certainly different. An Orsimer's mouth was like a wall of teeth. Between the tusks were very sharp teeth, the kind you'd see on a predatory mammal. The tusks were hard and thick on either side of my mouth, sort of like bookends on a very erotic set of stories. His lips were softer and more responsive than I expected. I suppose I thought they'd be rigid, stretched around his tusks, but they weren't.

How stupid of me, judging the elasticity of his lips when I should have been basking in the enjoyment of _feeling_ them. Would I cut myself on his teeth if I slipped my tongue into his mouth? At the moment, I was a little reluctant to try, so I kept the kiss a bit chaste for the time being.

Along with the kiss that I'd always wanted to experience with him, another little need I entertained was touching his ear. Humans had such small ears by comparison. His were a bit larger and sharply pointed. When I ran my fingers up the edge, he _quivered_. Feeling him react like that was so empowering, I left his mouth and went for the ear.

That did it. Tongue plus ear equals melted Orsimer. Mauronk fell over on his back with a groan of pleasure, and I followed him down. It took a few minutes of hovering over him like a horny vulture to realize I was straddling his hips. I didn't even remember climbing on top of him, so focused was I on licking his ear. And kissing his neck. He actually exposed his throat to me, like I was a dominant creature making him my bitch. Gods, what a turn-on!

All the while, he kept his hands to himself, which was kind of frustrating. I didn't come all this way _not _ to be man-handled, in a manner of speaking.

"Gonna join in?" I breathed into his ear. "More fun when you're playing along, you know."

"I do not... want to... frighten...," he gasped. He might have said more, but I was already back on his mouth with a will. Fuck it. If my tongue got mangled, he could always heal me, right?

Apparently, oral invasions by other people's tongues was not a common practice in Skyrim. Or wherever Mauronk hailed from, judging by the awkwardness that greeted my tentative scouting mission. I guess Tamriel was bereft of the French influence. Such a shame. I wouldn't say he resisted the novelty, just that he didn't quite know what to do about it.

He figured it out pretty quickly, though. Not a stupid man. And certainly not able to deny the affect I was having on him much longer, either. It started with his hands on my waist, lightly gripping at first, but increasing in firmness as his ability to contain his passions broke down.

One of his hands took off on its own, slipping into my undershirt and heading for the ladies whose siren call first sounded a deafening blast the _last_ time we were here. I nearly collapsed on top of him when he got a hold of one. All of a sudden, there were just too many layers between us. Too many clothes. Lurching upright, I hauled my shirt off over my head.

Looking down at him as he filled _both_ hands with my breasts, I was a little startled. He was shaking and breathing heavily. Was he still trying to keep himself in check? Just how dangerous _was_ he? At the moment, I could feel how aroused he was, at least. _That_ was damned obvious.

Of course I remembered the imaginary sex. It was passionate and rough. Rather desperate, in fact. If that was coming from _him_, how _he_ felt, maybe I should have been nervous. At the end of the day, though, I was pretty damn thrilled with the prospect of _really_ getting a little something with him. Bring it, Mauronk. Do your worst.

Urging him to sit up, I helped him peel off his tunic, then collapsed on him for real this time. He held me close, and crushed my breasts against his downy chest as his hands roamed all over my bare back. I couldn't stop kissing him: his lips, his cheeks, his ears, his neck... When I nipped his ear ridge, he groaned and one hand dove down the back of my underwear.

This time, however, my legs were apart, and he didn't stop.

Oh. My. Gods. What with all the kissing and fondling and whatnot, when his fingers found the sweet spot, a wave of heat rolled through me, and I very nearly climaxed. I was certainly on the express train to orgasm, heading for the station at the end of the line. Two words were all my mind was capable of entertaining at that moment: 'clothes' and 'off.' Receiving my orders, I desperately shimmied out of my woolen underwear while trying to keep his mouth engaged, and not dislodge his hand from my nethers.

Leave it to Mauronk not to let me ride him like a bull in a rodeo, though. Once I was completely naked, he rolled over on top of me and simply opened up his breeches to set his manhood loose. Didn't even _try_ to get his pants off. In retrospect, I'm not sure I would have been patient enough for that, because he would have had to get out of his boots as well. Fuck that shit. I think my feet were about as far apart as Markarth and Riften, and my Orsimer was infiltrating Whiterun with an unstoppable army of one.

I could barely keep my head above water, it seemed. Making love with him was wild and so unlike that illusory fuck there seemed to be no comparison. True, we were pretty much doing _exactly_ the same thing as when he healed me. It wasn't easy to describe or characterize, other than it was _really_ him, _really_ touching me, _really_... loving me. Because after he was buried to the hilt in my body, he slowed down. He looked me in the eyes and caressed my face. He murmured in my ear... I don't know what he said. Either he was speaking Orcish, or my brain wasn't connected well enough to recognize my own language. He nuzzled my face and neck, and I felt his tusks grazing the skin, particularly around my neck.

Eventually, when he had driven me to the verge, he took me over the edge hard and fast. I'd never in my life drawn blood on a lover, but his ministrations got me so completely off, I dug my nails in deeply. I almost cracked a tooth, I was bearing down so tightly to keep the sounds of my enjoyment to a discreet level. I swear, if I'd let loose with how he was making me feel, the roof would have come down on our heads.

"Good gods," I breathed when he rolled off me, gasping from the exertion. "Wow. That was... positively... the best. Without a doubt."

"Yes," he grunted. "I was not your first, then?"

Nice. Now he was disappointed. "No, not my first. Does that bother you?"

"No," he replied. "I only worry that... perhaps I cannot please you as... another might have done."

I rolled onto my side and gave him an impatient look. "Trust me, there's no competition. I don't... keep score or anything. As far as pleasing me is concerned..." I faltered. This wasn't going to be easy to say, but I couldn't look him in the eye and be dishonest. "Mauronk, I really care about you. That makes... everything to do with you... feel _really_ good. I think, even if I _didn't_, you'd still be an amazing lover. But I do, and... gods, it was a hundred times _more_ amazing. And it was _real_," I said desperately. "It wasn't a dream. That means the world to me."

He looked completely humbled. "You have become precious to me," he murmured, reaching over to brush a stray hair from my forehead. "If you will have me, I would not be parted from you."

Relief washed over me, and I snuggled close to him, caressing his chest. "I was hoping you'd say that."


	11. Irresistible

**Irresistible**

Sometime during the night, someone slipped a bird's nest into my mouth. And then kicked my ass.

Everything hurt. I slowly dragged myself out of bed and stumbled across the cold floor to a pitcher and basin on a washstand. It was _freezing_ in this room! I could probably cut diamonds with my nipples. Pouring a bit of water in the basin, I splashed some on my face to wake up.

"Nice ass," Mauronk muttered sleepily.

"Sorry, Charlie," I growled. "Ass is closed for business. There was a party in here last night that didn't leave until dawn. The place is a mess."

He chuckled. "The doors kept opening, letting more in. What is a man to do?"

I practically sprinted back to the comforting warmth of the bed... and his arms. He engulfed my body happily and nuzzled behind my ear. "Are you saying you can't resist me?" I asked, playfully nipping his shoulder.

"I have faced draugr and spiders as large as a cart horse," he murmured. His hands cupped my buttocks and he kissed me long and lazily. "Against such enemies, I have strength. I have will. I can fight." Rolling on top of me, he easily maneuvered his way between my legs. "When I am with you," he whispered, sliding in, "I am at your mercy."

Apparently he wasn't the _only_ one lacking resistance as the 'open for one more round of business' sign flashed up. Shrugging helplessly, I grabbed his ass with both hands and enjoyed the ride.

Sooner or later, though, the real business of the day had to get started, and we grudgingly rose to face it. The innkeeper gave us really weird looks in the common room when we dug into our breakfasts like starved wolves. I'd forgotten that awesome sex often has the same side effect as marijuana use: gives me the munchies. But then, we'd been at it most of the night. Lots of fluids were lost. Had to replenish.

"There's still... Whiterun," I ventured when we both slowed down with the face-shoveling. He paused in chewing on a strip of what might have been bacon in my world, but more than likely came from a skeever here.

"What about it?"

"The dragon," I reminded him. "We have to warn them. Ralof's gone to ground, evidently, so that leaves us as the bearers of bad news."

Mauronk grunted and nodded. "The day is half done. We need to get started if we are to reach the city by morning."

"Morning? It's that far?" I asked incredulously. Looking surprised, he nodded.

"Yes. I have only been to the city once. Guarding a merchant's caravan," he said casually.

"Guarding?" I asked. "What do you mean?"

"I have sworn my sword to service on occasion," he explained. "We are called 'sellswords' here. Mercenaries. If I thought the cause just, I took their coin and guarded their lives."

I had to admit, it came as a surprise. I suppose I'd always had a rather jaded image of mercenaries in mind, sort of like bloodthirsty, kill-anything-if-the-price-is-right sorts who almost literally prostituted themselves for the opportunity to feed their inner beast and get paid for the privilege. Probably watched too many movies. I couldn't see Mauronk as someone like that, but I hadn't known him long. For all I knew, he was _exactly_ that sort, and only on his best behavior now because he was getting laid.

"So... you still... hire yourself out?" I ventured cautiously.

He shook his head and took a long drink of mead. "No. Not anymore. When one is... willing to kill for money, there are... expectations. I did not wish to live up to them."

Studying his face, I decided I didn't want to press him on these 'expectations.' His brow furrowed and red eyes narrowed. His lips were twitching a little, too, like a snarl was trying to get out and he wasn't interested in indulging it at the moment. There wasn't a lot about this world I could claim familiarity with, but human nature seemed to be pretty universal, and not exclusive to humans. I had a feeling these expectations had something to do with a certain assassin's guild, or at least someone wanting the same result for less money.

"Well," I said briskly, "we should head out, then." Grabbing one last swallow from my tankard, I rose and led the way out the door of the inn.

I'd tried out new characters in the game so many times, I could practically walk to Whiterun from Riverwood in my sleep. Not a good idea _here_, though. The city was an unbelievably long distance away; I couldn't even see it on the horizon until we were ready to stop for the night.

At least, that's what I _thought_ we were going to do. Mauronk didn't show any signs of slowing down or looking for a campsite.

"Hey, uh, maybe _you're_ all fired up and ready to go, but I need some sleep," I groused.

Glancing over his shoulder, the Orc replied, "We have lost two days already. If you do not want to deliver your warning to a burned and flattened city, we should not stop."

For a moment, I wanted to tell him that the dragon wouldn't attack until I gave the court magician the Dragonstone anyway, so there was no big rush. But I stopped myself, and real, coherent _thought_ came into play. This _wasn't_ the game. There weren't pre-programmed triggers going on. If that dragon wanted to go have a nice, big, Nordic snack right after Helgen, he was not only entitled, but likely to do so. I recalled that the Jarl's palace was called Dragonsreach, and had been a prison of sorts to a dragon ages ago. If dragons were intelligent enough to have legends, it stood to reason that the dragon would skip over the benign little Riverwood and go straight for the prize. Revenge being best served up cold, you know.

So... forced march through the night. I supposed that was best. I didn't have much of a desire to sleep on the cold ground after such a good rest in a real bed.

Oh, who was I kidding? I barely got any sleep at all. Likely wouldn't if we camped on the bare earth tonight, either. He wasn't the _only_ one whose resistance was at an all-time low.

Jesus, just _thinking_ about him... Now, I wouldn't say that I'm a nymphomaniac or anything, but damn if that Mauronk didn't hit all the right buttons for me, just on a physical level. Add his personality to the mix, which was just the right combination of tough and masculine with some sensitivity thrown in, and I was completely hooked.

My mind was going over last night, reliving all those wonderful orgasms, and getting myself all tingly and worked up again. Glancing over, I found I'd fallen behind a little, and had a really great view of his ass. When he walked, his body sort of _loped_, like a feral animal. Graceful, yet wound like a spring and ready for action if the need arose. But he was encased in a metal shell, and I didn't have a crab cracker on hand.

Ah, but he didn't need to take it _all_ off. Only the one bit in the front...

For crying out loud! I was starting to sound like a guy! Checking out his ass and contemplating how to get at his goodies. Honestly. Maybe I _was_ a nympho...

Dammit.

"Um... Mauronk?"

"Yes?" he replied without looking back.

"Um... you... uh... wanna take a break for a minute?"

"No," he said absently. "I am not weary."

"I... uh... think I have a rock in my boot or something," I invented hastily. "Can we stop for a second?"

He immediately halted and turned. "As you wish."

Trying to hide my smile, I led the way off the road a bit and sat on a fallen tree. He stood nearby, keeping a wary eye on the road and the area around us, as if he expected something to happen if he stopped being watchful for half a second. I took off my boot and made a half-hearted overture of shaking it empty.

Why was I suddenly shy, after spending the entire previous night in various positions, doing things that would embarrass my mother if she knew about it, and whispering requests in his ear that would make a sailor blush? Yet there I was, putting my boot back on and getting back on my feet. Heading for the road.

It was certainly confusing. The ache in my loins was _not_ diminished in any sense, and all I could think about was having him again, even a quickie, just a little nibble to tide me over until we got to Whiterun...

And I was suddenly all over him, kissing him so fiercely he staggered back off the road. He was definitely at my mercy now. Stepping back, I poked him in the chest.

"You," I snarled. "Fuck me. _Now_." Turning, I pulled up the back of my leather drape, hooked my woolens and dropped them, then leaned over the fallen tree.

There was definitely a special place in the afterlife waiting for him, for he didn't keep me waiting long in that awkward and embarrassing position. Seconds after the command was given, the dutiful soldier rammed the ordnance home. It was probably dirty and low-class in this world, but it felt so _good_. Even the incessant slap of his armored legs against the backs of my thighs made it that much more naughty. I didn't bother keeping the volume down for the sake of inn patrons this time, and shamelessly voiced my pleasure. He was right there with me, grunting and growling like a beast, making it even _more_ deliciously wicked.

Thank god it was the middle of the night. If anyone had been traveling the roads, going about their daily business, and come upon an Orsimer up to the hilt in a Nord... According to him, there would have been dire consequences for such an apparent violation.

"Sorry about that," I muttered as we set ourselves to rights afterward. "Saw your ass, got a hankerin', couldn't wait."

He laughed loudly, looking down at me contentedly and resting his hand on my shoulder to steady himself. "I feel so used," he joked.

Reaching around, I grabbed hold of his behind. Covered in chainmail it might be, but still a sweet handful. "Maybe you shouldn't have been so tempting, hmmm?"

"You as well," he murmured, kissing my neck. His tusks grazed the tender flesh, and I gripped him harder.

"Liar," I sighed. "_I_ almost had to knock you down."

"Had I been stalking _you_ from behind," he chuckled, "we would not have made it _this_ far."

"Side by side, then," I suggested with a smirk. "Or we'll never get to Whiterun."

"Agreed."

* * *

><p>By morning, we were dragging our feet, but we'd made it with only one more 'stop' along the way. Maybe two. The guards at Whiterun's gates didn't challenge us at all; just let us right in. I thought that was a bit strange, but then, this wasn't the game, I kept reminding myself. It was quite possible they hadn't heard a thing about the dragon attack.<p>

"We're here to see the Jarl," I said a little uneasily. "We have news from... from Helgen."

"Know your way?" the guard asked. When I glanced over at Mauronk, the guard took that for a 'no' and gestured to his buddy.

The second guard escorted us through town and up to Dragonsreach. The palace was... different. Architecturally, it was very similar, but... I don't know how to describe it. There was just a feeling about it that wasn't sterile like it seemed in the game. This was a real place, with real worn wood that had survived for centuries, likely. Probably seen several assaults from one enemy or another. In fact, the beams were pitted as if from ranged attacks, like from siege engines. There were even scorch marks, but whether that came from uppity mages or pissed off dragons, I had no idea.

In the game, I felt like I could breeze in at any time, day or night, and 'own' the place, basically. Here, it felt every bit like the Jarl's seat of power, his home, his... _world_. And I was just visiting. When _he_ saw fit to entertain me.

Our escort nodded to the guards at the main doors, who promptly opened them for us. Then we went inside.

Again, very like the Dragonsreach main hall, with a huge dining table laid out for forty or so people, a gigantic pit fire in the center, and a raised dais at the end where we could just see Jarl Balgruuf the Greater lounging on his throne.

There they were, Avenicci the sniveling, whiny steward, and Irileth, Housecarl to the Jarl. I was expecting Irileth to come stomping down to us, but she just kept her position at Balgruuf's left hand. She _did_ look disdainful and haughty. That much was the same.

"What business have you with Jarl Balgruuf the Greater?" she said rather snippily to Mauronk. He just raised an eyebrow. And maybe curled his lip a bit. He had the advantage there: his tusks sort of made him look pissed and snarky all the time, so he could indulge a bit of it on the sly without anyone knowing he was putting some extra effort into it.

"Um," I offered, stepping slightly forward, "I've come from Helgen, ma'am. There was a dragon atta-..."

Balgruuf suddenly sat forward, all attention now. The steward's head jerked back with surprise, and Irileth blinked her red eyes at me in shock.

"What is this?" the Jarl snapped. "Dragon?"

"Yeah. I mean, _yes_, your... Jarl-ship," I stammered. How do you address these people, anyway? "My... friend and I were among the few who escaped with our lives. Last we knew, the dragon was headed toward Riverwood. We just came from there, and everything was okay for now, but... well.. they need help. In case it attacks." Wow, did I sound ever so not telling the truth.

"The town is poorly defended," Mauronk added, and I privately promised to 'reward' him for the save. "The attack on Helgen left the town in ruins. We fear for the people there."

"Dragons!" Avenicci scoffed. "Honestly, the tales you Nords tell..."

"They are not tales!" another Nord bellowed, striding up onto the dais. I kind of remembered him, but I couldn't recall the name. He had 'bad ass gonna mess you up' written all over him, and it looked like whiny steward guy was next on the whuppin' list. "You belittle the traditions of our people with every breath, stinking Imperial dog."

"Hrongar, that is enough," the Jarl interjected sternly, and the man stood down. He kept a venomous eye on the steward, though. Said steward was visibly shaken.

"I... meant no offense," he whimpered. "It is just that... dragons, I ask you. Such creatures have not been seen for centuries. Surely there must be a mistake..."

"No mistake, sir," I insisted. "You can see it for yourself. Helgen is a burning slag pile. We had to escape through tunnels. Anyone outside... probably didn't make it."

For a moment, that horrific experience came screaming back to me, and I staggered a little. I'd come so close to death, _so close_... I felt Mauronk's hand on my arm to steady me and clasped it tightly. "It was a really rough day, sir."

"I expect it was," the Jarl agreed. "Avenicci, fetch Ferengar. He will want to know of this."

Grimacing, the steward left in search of the mage. Obviously he didn't like being sent on a 'fetch' mission.

While we waited, the Jarl looked us over. It didn't look to me like he was the kind of man easily fooled, and certainly not one who missed even the tiniest details. Suddenly self-conscious, I released Mauronk's hand and probably blushed, just to make damn sure he didn't miss the gesture. Good grief.

Sure enough, his eyes narrowed. I crossed my arms over my chest. There wasn't anything I could do that didn't scream _I've done very bad, very taboo things in your hold, Mr. Jarl sir.__ Please don't put me in the dungeon or hang my lover._

Out of the blue, the doors of Dragonsreach flew open with a resounding bang that echoed through the high-ceilinged palace. A guard huffed up in a furious hurry. He barely got the necessary salute executed before his mouth started running.

"Dragon, sir! Attacking the western watchtower! Two men dead, the rest are trapped. They need help, sir!"

The Jarl and Irileth exchanged looks, then they both turned to me and Mauronk.

"You have fought a dragon?" the Jarl asked.

"More like run screaming from a dragon," I muttered, drawing a bemused snort from the Orc. Taking a deep breath, I straightened up and tried to look... well, halfway like I knew what I was talking about. "I've seen one, sir. I don't know much, but I'll... I'll help any way I can."

It felt like I was saying, _Sure, I'll be glad to throw myself into that __erupting volcano. No sweat, boss._

"Good," he said, nodding. "You will accompany Irileth." Turning to his Housecarl, Balgruuf said, "Lead a squad down to the watchtower and see what can be done there. Take no chances, Irileth; none have fought a dragon before. I do not want unnecessary casualties. If more men are needed, make sure you are alive to request them."

"Yes, my Jarl," the Dunmer replied, saluting.

"And you," Balgruuf said, turning to the exhausted guard. "Go to the kitchens for a meal and a drink. You have earned a rest."

"Thank you, my Jarl," the man said gratefully. Saluting, he turned and left.

"Come," Irileth said, gesturing to me and Mauronk. "We have a dragon to kill."


	12. Astonishment

A/N: Apologies to all who have enjoyed this fic for its run. I was feeling very constrained by the adherence to the Dragonborn concept, to the point where I thought I'd have to make Danni give the finger to Skyrim and _not_ use her powers to save the world. Instead, I decided to un-dragon her. :) So I've rewritten chapters 9 and 10 to fit this concept, and _now_ I think we're ready to move on. Sorry if you had your heart set on Danni being Dragonborn. If I was going to continue with this fic, she had to be 'normal.'

* * *

><p><strong>Astonishment<strong>

I have no idea how I got from the Jarl's dais down to the patch of road in front of the blacksmith's shop with a dozen grim-faced men, Mauronk, and a Dunmer woman pacing back and forth in front of us all, spouting those platitudes and encouragements in the face of impending doom that always seem to rally the troops in movies. I was about a heartbeat away from dissolving in a puddle or running for the hills. If Mauronk hadn't been there, occasionally giving me an encouraging nod, I would have taken the runner option.

Not particularly encouraged, Irileth. Tone down the 'if we die, we die with honor' talk because it's really not helping. Screw Richard III's demand for a horse; I wanted an Uzi. I was momentarily distracted from the pep talk by a little boy, probably about nine or ten, pushing a quiver full of arrows into my hands, then moving on to the next guy to do the same.

Before I knew it, Irileth gave the command, which I missed because it was like my ears were full of panic-spun cotton, and the troops filed out through the front gates.

"Take aim carefully," Mauronk said close to me. "Point _up_. That is where the dragon will be."

I slowly turned my head and glared at him. He offered a wan smile.

For some reason, the lame attempt at humor kind of helped. A little. Tension I didn't realize was wound so tight, loosened a smidgen. Taking a deep breath, I tried not to focus too hard on the fight to come, and narrowed it all down to keeping up with the men around me, who broke into a trot once we were on the road heading for the tower.

It was farther than in the game, which shouldn't have surprised me. By the time we covered the distance, everyone was a little winded. Unlike the game, though, we didn't arrive at the watchtower in between attacks. No, the dragon was going to town, circling the structure and blasting away at it. Even a hundred yards off, we could hear the screams as one or two of the defenders caught fire.

Irileth led us in a charge straight into the thick of it, and I followed the rest of them like a mindless sheep. Mauronk and I took up a position in the lee of a toppled wall and started firing. The other men did the same – grab cover and start shooting.

Of course, there was no health bar hovering in the air to let me know we were damaging the dragon. As far as I could tell, as it swooped low overhead and scorched another guy, it wasn't particularly affected by our feeble attempts to bring it down. My arms were hurting from pulling that bowstring back in such rapid succession, but I kept at it. Then the damn thing came down.

It was a really clumsy landing, its front legs buckling under it so it face planted and dug a furrow fifty yards long. Rather than being out for the count, the bastard roared and snapped, catching a man in its jaws who'd thought it was time to bring swords into play. He got chewed in half for his poor judgment, and I nearly hurled.

"Shoot it! Shoot it!" Irileth roared, directing her men to keep up the assault. Mauronk and I let the dragon have it with both barrels, so to speak.

Gathering itself, the dragon tried to launch back into the sky, but apparently the seventy-five or so arrows sticking out of it finally took their toll. It got about fifty feet in the air then came crashing down again. The earth shook under my feet and I almost lost my balance. More arrows flew, the dragon roared an angry protest that damn near caved in my eardrums, then finally, it sort of went limp and sank into the ground.

I was completely done in, and leaned against Mauronk for support. He put an arm around me. Gods, nothing felt so good as that.

"A beast out of legends," one of the guards whispered in awe as we all cautiously approached the biggest side of beef in all of Tamriel.

"I don't care much for legends and stories," Irileth said firmly. "All I see is dead dragon. You, Danni and Mauronk. Tell Jarl Balgruuf the dragon has been defeated. We will remain here and tend the wounded and the dead."

Effectively dismissed, the two of us made our slow way back to Whiterun. It was weird, not seeing the dragon's carcass go _foosh_. Was the big spontaneous combustion effect all part of the Dragonborn deal? Must've been, because it just lay there like roadkill. Something sort of nagged at the back of my mind about that, making me wish I'd actually finished the damn game. Was there something... something important about absorbing the soul? Something I was missing? You know, besides the soul powering up the Shouts. Yes, I'd started a bunch of characters, but I never got very far in the game because I hadn't settled on _that one avatar_ that... _spoke_ to me. In retrospect, I should have made it an Orc. That might have kept me interested.

I couldn't grab whatever that thought was. By the time we reached Whiterun, it was sunset, and a traveling band of Khajiiti were setting up their little encampment outside the walls. We waved to them as we passed.

"Mauronk," I said thoughtfully, "did that seem... too easy to you?"

He glanced at me and furrowed his bony brow. "Compared to what? It was easily the toughest fight _I_ have been in."

"Yeah," I agreed. "Pretty... rough stuff." But I couldn't get that frown off my face or those weird thoughts out of my head.

Word managed to travel fast, so I had to assume someone ran ahead or the guards on the walls were able to see some of the battle, because we were cheered as we passed through the gates. Forcing a smile on my face, I let several townspeople and guards escort us up the hill to Dragonsreach, patting our backs and clamoring for details. It was overwhelming and unsettling, but we obliged them as best we could. Eventually, we made it up to Dragonsreach proper, and the guards pushed the crowd back to allow us unhindered access.

Compared to outside, the interior of the Jarl's palace was as silent as a tomb. We presented ourselves to Balgruuf and gave him the run-down of the battle. At his side were Farengar the mage and Avenicci.

"You have performed a noble service, coming to our aid as you did," the Jarl said solemnly. "For that, I name you Danni, Thane of Whiterun."

It was on the tip of my tongue to protest and insist that Mauronk had as much if not more to do with the dragon's demise than I did, but Balgruuf was already rising and taking a sword from Avenicci's hands. I was struck speechless: as swords go, it was pretty plain, being a steel weapon with little ornamentation. But it _shimmered_ with enchantment, and was positively beautiful because it was for _me_. I accepted the blade almost reverently.

"As Thane of Whiterun, you may take into your service a Housecarl to guard your life and your fortunes. Lydia," he said, gesturing to a tall, dark-featured Nord woman I hadn't noticed before.

It was all happening a bit too fast, and I just sort of stumbled over my own tongue as she ascended the dais and sort of snapped to attention.

"Um... that's... I appreciate that, muh-my Jarl, sir," I stammered, shooting my gaze around at all the expectant faces. "I... if it wouldn't be... an insult or anything, I'd like to... uh... retain my... friend Mauronk as... Housecarl. We've been through a lot together and... I trust him with my life."

"If that is your wish, it is granted," Balgruuf nodded, and dismissed Lydia with a gesture. She bowed curtly then spun on her heel with military precision and marched out the doors. Wow, I hope I didn't piss her off. She had the look of someone who'd take your head off if you looked at her funny. Pretty much just exactly as she looked in the game, come to think of it.

"I expect you have need of rest," he continued. "You may stay here in the guest quarters, or if you prefer, _The Bannered Mare_ has adequate rooms. I do believe the guardsmen will shortly be flocking there for the honeyed mead to celebrate their victory." He smiled knowingly. "I do not doubt you wish to join in the merrymaking."

"Yeah," I said, nodding, "We'd... yes, that would be.. great." I still didn't know quite how to talk to these people.

As we turned to leave, I caught out of the corner of my eye another sort of... hmmm... a suspicious look? Like he wasn't quite sure what he was seeing, couldn't believe what his gut was telling him, but wasn't about to insult me by asking. It made me pretty uncomfortable, not the least because I didn't know what he was looking at. _I_ wasn't doing anything to give off vibes of a forbidden nature.

Of course, the cat got out of the bag after we left the palace and were on our way down the stairs to _The Bannered Mare_.

"Did you mean what you said?" Mauronk asked.

"What did I say?" I asked.

"That you trusted me with your life," he said. I caught the note of seriousness in his voice and stopped to look at him.

"Yeah, Mauronk," I said, nodding. "I do."

"It... is my honor to be your Housecarl," he said humbly, and inclined his head in a short bow. "I will endeavor to be worthy of you."

"You _are_, or I wouldn't have said it," I assured him, reaching up to stroke his cheek. He closed his eyes and smiled a little. "You're way more than a Housecarl to me, by the way," I went on. "You are friend and lover as well. I don't need Miss Rod-up-her-ass when I have you."

He chuckled for a moment, then grew serious again. "Forgive me, Danni, but... I could not help... I am afraid I looked at you... The Jarl saw..."

"Hey," I said, pressing my fingers to his lips to shush him. "I don't care. What's he gonna do, huh? Is there a law against it? Or just weird social conventions? Because I really don't give a crap about social conventions. They can suck it."

"I do not wish to dishonor you," he insisted. I rolled my eyes.

"Be honest with me, keep being the good man you are, and you won't," I said. "There is no dishonor in loving someone."

Oh my. That took us both by surprise. I had to look away and take five to shake in my boots. He was having a Twix moment about it, too.

"No," he agreed shakily. "No... dishonor... in loving... Danni," he breathed, and I swear, he looked like he was going to cry. My big, manly, ass-kicking Mauronk, dissolving in tears because...

"I mean it," I said firmly. "How about we go to the _Mare_ and... maybe I'll prove it, huh?"

Smiling, he said, "As my Thane wishes."

* * *

><p>I had just decided that <em>The Bannered Mare<em> had the softest, most deliciously comfortable post-coital bed in Whiterun Hold, lovingly supporting bodies thoroughly done in from vigorous lovemaking and dragon slaying, when there was a furious pounding on the door of our room.

Son of a bitch.

Mauronk, preferring the side of the bed closest to the door, rolled out clumsily and fell on his ass on the floor, his legs tangled up in the bedclothes. I smothered a giggle and he growled at me. Suppressing more giggles as he hopped on one foot to pull on some breeches before answering the door, I considered suggesting he just whip open the door as he was. _That_ would discourage anyone from interrupting us again.

Once he was decently covered, he opened the door to a practically frantic young guardsman.

"Mauronk," he blurted, "Where is Thane Danni?"

The Orsimer jerked his head back toward me and said, "She's indisposed. What do you want?"

The guard looked momentarily bewildered, and tried to see past Mauronk's broad shoulder. Which he shifted to block the guy's view into the dark room. Sighing, I started pulling on my clothes.

"What is it?" Mauronk barked more forcefully, and the guard swallowed.

"Jarl Balgruuf demands you come to Dragonsreach immediately," he said urgently. "I'm to bring you both _now_."

"Why?" Mauronk snarled. "We were given leave to rest. Has the Jarl changed his mind?"

"No, sir," the man said, shaking his head. "Something... strange has happened, and he wants you to come."

Once I was dressed, I joined Mauronk in the doorway. "What 'strange thing'? What are you talking about?"

Looking relieved, he turned to me. "Thane Danni, you must come quickly. The dragon has disappeared."


	13. Marking

**Marking**

I confess the idea that the dragon would shake off a hundred arrows and numerous sword slashes, and just _walk away_, never even occurred to me. After dressing in a daze, I was on automatic pilot all the way up to Dragonsreach. Barely acknowledged that it was the dead of night. Or that the guard, like all guards everywhere in Skyrim at night, was carrying a torch.

The place was lit like Christmas, even at this hour, and the guard brought us up to the war room with the map and all. Jarl Balgruuf was pacing in agitation, Irileth was standing stoic and alert nearby, and that Avenicci fella looked a couple seconds away from sinking into a chair. Obviously not as quick off the mark when the boss wanted to pull an all-nighter.

"What say you of this, Thane Danni?" the Jarl asked me pointedly. "The dragon's corpse has gone. There are no signs that the giants came and dragged it off. Even _they_ are not so formidable that they could have lifted it."

"There are no footprints to indicate they tried," Irileth pointed out.

"Um... when did, uh... when did this happen?" I asked, trying to channel my inner Officer Friday. Damn shame that TV series was on so late at night. I probably wouldn't get the facts.

"Not an hour ago," Irileth replied. "A guard heard what sounded like great wings and came from the tower to see what it might be. He feared another attack. By the time his search brought him to where the corpse _should_ have been, it was gone."

"So it just... got up and flew away?" I ventured. I _think_ I had a 'who farted' look of incredulity on my face. Sure felt like it.

"That is what I suspect." There was a rather pregnant pause.

"And... what has this got to do with me?" I prompted.

"Where is it?" Balgruuf barked, rounding on me. I swear, he looked like he expected me to pull the dragon out of my pants.

"The fuck if I know!" I snapped. Really! Did I _look_ like the expert here?

"You alone were present when it first appeared!" the Jarl roared, and I took a step back. He was _pissed_! "You brought the Dragonstone. You know more of these creatures than any..."

"I don't know _diddly squat_ about the damn dragons!" I retorted. "I ran around _screaming_ when that one showed up in Helgen. Ask Mauronk; he'll tell you."

"Yet you prevailed in battle against it...," he began, and I flared up.

"With the help of your men! And women," I added, nodding to Irileth. She looked a little startled, as if acknowledgements of her gender were rare. "Trust me, if it hadn't been so god damned _big_ my arrows wouldn't even hit it. There's no evidence that any of them _did_. I'm not exactly the world's best marksman." I glanced at Mauronk apologetically; his was usually the ass in the most danger when I started shooting.

Mauronk, now, looked a little... okay, _a lot_ confused, and I had to give him a short head shake. _Don't tell them I know everything_, I wanted to say without words. Because in this one case, I really didn't.

As if carried on a savior's wings, Ferengar blew up the stairs holding a sheaf of parchments with what looked like charcoal rubbings on them. He must have been having a lengthy bonding evening with that Dragonstone.

"My Jarl!" he cried, skidding to a puffing halt. "I believe I have deciphered this stone's markings. On this side," he began, laying the papers on the map table, "there is clearly a map of Skyrim carved. These stars, _I believe_, indicate ancient burial mounds."

"Burial mounds?" Balgruuf asked, leaning over the map and frowning.

"Yes, of _dragons_," Ferengar said excitedly. "You see? There is one here, not far from Helgen." Shuffling papers, he continued, "On the reverse is an inscription in the tongue of dragons. It reads, 'Here lie our fallen lords; the roaring power of Alduin revives.'"

"I am not certain I understand...," Balgruuf said slowly.

"Do you not see?" Ferengar cried. He was just about _dancing._ "The prophecy, my Jarl! 'The World-Eater wakes.' That is Alduin, the great dragon, as you must know. And the other part: 'the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn.'"

The room went quiet as that bit of news was absorbed. I had no idea about a prophecy thing. Was this in the game? Did I click through too many conversations? Fail to read the right book? Have my head up my ass? All distinct possibilities.

"What you are saying," Balgruuf said cautiously, "is that, if Alduin returns, so must a Dragonborn appear also."

Ferengar nodded vigorously. "That is what the signs say, my Jarl."

Jarl Balgruuf took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "The Dragonborn is blessed with the power to utterly destroy a dragon, not just slay it _temporarily_." He sort of glanced at me like _I_ did something inadequate there. Hey, dammit, I unloaded a mess of arrows without _once_ hitting one of your men in the ass! I think I should get points for that.

"We have but to find the Dragonborn," Ferengar said eagerly, "and Tamriel shall be saved from this menace."

Nodding thoughtfully, Balgruuf turned to _me_. "I believe I have a task for you, Thane Danni."

Oh, _fuck_ no...

* * *

><p>So much for getting to kick back at the Bannered Mare for the rest of the night. Ten septims out the damn window. We spent the rest of the night following a guard around town, rousting shopkeepers out of their beds and 'urging' them to open their shops up just for us so we could get our asses out on the hunt that much quicker.<p>

I was at a loss. This was _not_ like the game, where you _are_ the god damned Dragonborn. None of this knees bent running about advancing type behavior trying to _find_ one. I'd already figured out Skyrim was at least twice if not three times the size of the game version, and now I had to go peeking under rocks and around bushes from end to end in search of somebody who _looked_ like they were born to Shout? What the fuck is _that_?

I didn't even have a racial clue, like it's going to be an Orsimer, or some kind of Elf, maybe a human... Not a single bone thrown in my direction on that score.

Expecting a long slog and harsh conditions, we loaded up on arrows and provisions. Then another thing occurred to me as we were selecting potions at _Arcadia's Cauldron_. I still had no magical abilities whatsoever.

"Mauronk," I hissed, and pulled him over to a corner away from the guard helping with our shopping and the bleary-eyed Arcadia. "We still need to go to Winterhold. The college up there. I need to get some handle on casting healing spells."

He nodded. "That should be our priority, then. Our search will be hindered if you are unable to help me as I help you." Then he blushed. I grinned and punched his shoulder.

"It's okay," I reassured him. "We can find out why your spells are so... interesting. That last one was a doozy."

Bowing his head, he nodded. "It does not matter that you... care for me, Danni. The effect my spell had was shameful."

"Yeah, well, we'll talk about it another time, okay?" I said awkwardly, glancing at the guard. He was giving us a weird look.

Suited up, armed, and ready to go, we headed for the main gates. I was actually feeling a bit relieved to get out into the world again. Not that kicking back in a hotel room shagging the daylights out of my Housecarl weren't _fun_, but it would be a whole ton _more_ fun without folks looking at me like only general courtesy kept them from openly barfing on my shoes.

Hey, Mauronk's not _that_ bad looking. He'll be considerably _better_ looking when his beard grows back in.

The sun was just starting to take a peek over the horizon when we _finally_ trudged out of Whiterun proper. Since we'd decided to go to Winterhold first, it looked like a huge-ass northward trek. And naturally, since this was _a real economy_ and not a game economy, we barely had a few septims to rub together after the stocking up exercise. No hiring a coach to take us there. I asked, just to test the waters, and the damn guy wasn't even _interested_. His coach didn't even _go_ there. I was like, sure it does. The game _says _ it does. He 'patiently' (i.e. patronizingly) explained to me that there were no stables in the little town there, so no stop on the route. _Duh_.

Fuming, I stomped to the road and stomped as it curved northward and stomped some more as we passed one farm after another.

As we followed the curve of the road, a watchtower loomed ahead in the weak morning light. From a distance, we could see some activity there. Probably because Mauronk was from this place, he immediately unsheathed his sword and assumed an offensive stance as we approached. I glanced at him questioningly.

"Archers," he said simply, and after a _really_ tight squint, I was able to see that two Whiterun guards at the tower were firing down on whatever unidentifiable melee was happening in front of the walls. Rolling my eyes heavenward because all of a sudden he and I seemed to have become the most understaffed peacekeeping force in history, I readied my shiny new bow that the dude from the _Drunken Huntsman_ assured me would set bad guys on fire.

We trotted up to the tower, but by the time we got there, everything was calm again. A couple of guards were dragging some dead guys into an orderly pile next to a wagon I supposed would be used to transport them to... uh... some other place. Nice to know they didn't just leave the dead lying around to rot. They nodded acknowledgements to us and went about their business.

As we turned back to the road, one of the guards called us back. "Mind yourself on the road," he warned. "There are many cutthroats and thieves about. Keep your sword loose and your bow ready."

"Uh... thanks," I said awkwardly.

I had to shake off the feeling of foreboding _that_ little bit of news gave me. It took me about a mile to do it, too.

"You are quiet, Danni," Mauronk finally commented.

"Just coming to grips with being an inviting target again," I grumbled. My eyes darted from one side of the road to the other. There were scrubby trees dotting around and dried up grass swishing in the light breeze. The road we were on was incredibly old. Maybe once it was a well-kept affair with polished stones, but now there were patches of dirt showing where stones were removed, lichens grew on most of the remaining ones, and you really had to watch your step or trip over the ones no longer seated flush with their neighbors. It was like looking at a Roman road centuries after the Romans lost the territory and stopped keeping things up.

"You are difficult to resist," he replied, his voice a low growl. And oh... so... fucking... _sexy_.

I slowly turned my head and half smiled at him. "Got a, uh... sword too loose in your scabbard there, sweet cheeks?"

He grinned a bit. "Very... loose. Is your bow ready?"

"Be careful there," I warned playfully. "This thing'll set you on fire."

His breath quickened. "I am already aflame."

"Well, then," I said with a pleasant shiver, "I suppose we should..."

"Yes," he nodded. "We should."

His steps immediately diverted from the road and he headed off toward a copse of trees about twenty yards away. Once we were concealed from any wandering merchants or random Thalmor asstards, we both started furiously stripping off our armor. I had it easier, since I was only wearing the leather dress-like contraption, but he had several pieces to unbuckle and fling carelessly aside. By the time he was done, he was almost _gasping_ and most certainly quivering all over. I promptly seated myself on a large rock, and none too soon, because he came at me immediately.

No preamble here; he about knocked my knees apart and plunged his sword home. He was in me to the hilt so quickly he almost knocked the wind out of me. Then he seriously, mercilessly, _deliciously_ fucked me so hard I couldn't even say his _name_. His arms encircled by body to keep from throwing me off the back of the rock with his wild thrusting, then he clamped his mouth down on my shoulder near the back of my neck. I had a moment of panic – just a _moment_ – before a roaring orgasm made me forget he had tusks the size of my middle finger pressing against my flesh. Then they sank _in_.

I swear, I convulsed from the shock as much as the pain. There flitted into my mind the thought of telling him off for biting me. Tusks like his had no business being used in the middle of sex, god dammit! Then I could feel his lips moving where he had his teeth buried in my shoulder, and a warm glow began to spread around the wound.

Son of a bitch, the bastard was _healing_ me! Oh, you suck, you suck, you... oh god. It was one of Mauronk's 'special' heal-fucks, coupled with a real fuck, and oh... my... _god_... I couldn't stop _coming_. I grabbed his ass hard and dug my nails into his hide, rocketing my hips against his. I was incoherent; no real words were coming out of me, just animal-like grunts and snarls that I hoped he understood meant _give it to me give it to me give it to me_.

I felt his teeth retract as his spell closed the wounds, but only dimly. I felt like jelly. Really runny jelly. When he stepped back and released me, I collapsed on the rock sort of splayed out. There wasn't an ounce of energy left in me, not even enough to quiver in satisfied delight.

"Danni," he gasped. Hell, I couldn't look at him; that required lifting my head. "Danni!" he called more urgently. When I still didn't respond, he stumbled over and gathered me in his arms. "Danni," he said again, nearly sobbing. He sank to the ground, holding me against his body and rocking me as though I were dead. Shit, it sure felt like it. Not in a bad way, though.

"I am sorry, Danni," he murmured next to my ear. "So sorry."

I raised a weak hand and patted his arm. "S'okay," I muttered. "I'll live."

He seemed to sigh with relief, but still held me close. "I am sorry. I should not have done that. I just couldn't _stop_. I am sorry."

Pushing his arms apart enough for me to look up at his face, I frowned at him. "Why did you bite me? What was _that_ shit about, Mauronk?"

He bowed his head, unable to look me in the eyes. "It is.. our way. Orsimer do this. No... no others do. Just us."

"Well... what's it _mean_?" I pressed. "What's it for? Because I swear, if you were just seeing how I taste in case we run out of food..."

Shaking his head quickly, he said, "No. It is not... about food. It is about... mating."

"Mating," I said flatly. "So... that... on the rock just now, with the... That wasn't just _fucking_. That was _mating_?"

He swallowed hard, still not looking me in the eyes. "I have never fucked you, Danni. I have always mated with you. It is just... perhaps... rougher than you are used to. When Orsimer mate."

"To... Orsimer," I ventured carefully, "is mating sort of like... making love?"

Now he finally looked at me. "It is entirely like making love. And more. Danni, I can hide nothing from you. I am finding out that even my healing spell betrays me. When... Orsimer wish to... claim a mate, we mark. I have... desired you... in that way for some days now. This time with you... I could not stop myself from claiming you. I am sorry."

It was a lot to digest, and difficult to do while lying buck-naked in his buck-naked arms in the middle of a god damned tundra. "Let's, uh, get dressed. I'm starting to get cold."

"As you wish," he replied miserably, and let me go.

Of course, he had to help me stand. My knees were still weak from the unprecedented endless orgasm... or maybe multiples were involved. Honestly, I wasn't keeping track. It was just a sort of general fuck fog clouding my brain.

Feelings of love aside, assuming that's what he was driving at and my heart was aiming _toward_, that was some pretty god-damned awesome sex. Sure, I liked me a little tenderness and whatnot once in awhile, but there was a time and a place for everything. In a comfortable bed, I could indulge some of that touchy-feely stuff and take my time. He'd shown he was more than capable of that. But out here in the wilds... well, they don't call'em 'wilds' for nothin', sister.

Frowning a little, I reached up and touched my shoulder. There was a little blood there, but he'd probably (good god) sucked a good deal of it away before closing the punctures. "Is it a big scar?" I asked feebly. I was looking at his mouth, seeing those enormous tusks, and doing some very uncomfortable math.

He forced himself to look, then bowed his head again. "Yes. It is... big. You may... hide it. With your armor. Or any clothing you wear." An uncomfortable little smile teased his lips. "Do not wear your slut dress, though. All will see it then."

Taking a deep breath, I finished buckling my armor. _I have a permanent hickey_, I thought to myself. _He's just tattooed a great big 'Mauronk wuz here' on my shoulder_. I honestly didn't know quite how to take it. If he was posturing and boastful, sort of the B.M.O.C. bragging to his buds about nailing me, thumping his chest like an ape and strutting around, then I'd have every excuse available to thoroughly kick his ass over it.

But he wasn't. He couldn't even look at me, _or_ the scar, as if what he did was a shameful thing. Apparently not among his own people, but as I'd learned from him so far, he had a lot of preconceived notions about what humans were into.

The annoying and embarrassing truth of it was that the _way_ he did it, the timing and the use of the fuck-me spell, did not encourage... uh... discouragement of a repeat. It didn't hurt all _that_ badly with all the other stimuli involved. I was a little bit disturbed that getting a giant-sized vampire bite wasn't as repellent as it _should_ be. Likely ought to be. Probably was to a lot of people. Non-Orsimer people.

Shaking my head, I turned to Mauronk. "I'm... not mad at you." He looked up skeptically. "Really. Let's, uh... keep going. Loads of miles ahead."

Mauronk nodded and led the way back to the road. I wasn't sure what else to say to him, so I didn't say a thing.


	14. Sanguinarium

**Sanguinarium**

"I'll bet the Dragonborn's a Nord," I mused over a mug of ale. Typical of this world, we found an inn out in the middle of no-frickin'-where, and since a snow storm was kicking up outside, we ducked in for the warmth. Mauronk sat at a small table opposite me, already on his second pint.

We walked for hours after the little side-of-the-road business, barely talking. The storm made it difficult anyway, but up until that time, I just... couldn't. The longer I thought about what happened, the more uncomfortable I got. The whole biting thing, the _punishing_ sex... while all fine and dandy at the time and in the heat of the moment, upon later examination was a little... freaky. I was too squeamish to bring up the subject again, so we talked about other shit that didn't matter much. It was a lot easier that way. At least for now.

Shrugging, he replied, "Could just as easily be an Orsimer."

"Hmph," I snorted. "That'd be a poke in the eye for someone, wouldn't it?" I darted a furtive look at the innkeeper. I hate to say it, but she was watching us, and totally giving me the heebie jeebies.

"Why do you say that?" he frowned, bristling a bit.

"Well... meaning no offense, but... Okay, maybe you didn't notice, but when you and I walked in here, that innkeeper gave you the stink-eye something _fierce_," I pointed out. "Can't wait to ask her for a single room."

"I am not sure... what 'stink-eye' is, but if you mean the look she gave me, then yes, I noticed," Mauronk said quietly. His lips curled in an even bigger snarl than usual. "I feel her eyes on my back even now."

"Almost makes me wanna give you a lap dance and boob snuggle," I muttered, glaring past his shoulder. "I _swear_ this kind of racist crap wasn't laid out so obviously in the game."

His brow furrowed and he looked at me curiously. "What are... lap dance and... boob snuggle?"

Word of advice for all you would-be otherworld adventurers: do not make foreign statements like that then take a big gulp of beer. The innocent way he asked for a definition sent a fine spray of booze into his face, coming out my mouth _and_ nose with explosive force. I choked for several minutes while he wiped himself down with annoyance.

"Sorry," I rasped. Cheap ale is enough of a chore going down; you seriously don't want it coming back up. "Um... I'll... show you later. Not really something you wanna do in a crowded bar. Unless there are strippers, then I guess it's okay." Glancing at him, a titter escaped. "Oh yeah. I think you count, don't you?"

"You are drunk," he observed, a half smile on his face.

Taken aback, I said, "On one drink? It takes a hell of a lot more than this, my friend." Standing up, I hailed the pissy bitch in the slut dress. Oh yeah, she was wearing one like mine, except the skirt was the color of dried blood. She probably looked better in it, too.

"Yes, ma'am?" she said stiffly as she approached, and I gestured toward the bar.

"Bring me a couple more of those toilet-water beers of yours," I replied loftily. "_He_ thinks I'm drunk. _I'm_ going to prove him wrong."

"Danni, are you all right?" Mauronk ventured cautiously, and I waved him down.

"You just sit there and look cute as hell," I told him, patting his shoulder. Eying the snarky barmaid, I said, "Shoo! Get the beer! Off you go!"

She scampered off like a panicked skeever and I thudded down on my chair. There was a tiny voice in the back of my mind telling me that something wasn't right, but I could barely hear it. The room was a little blurry, but the wind was harsh out there, and my eyes were likely just tearing up.

Bitch came back with a tray, and I took the two brimming mugs off it. Slamming one down on the table and sending a frothy wave over the sides, I began gulping down the other.

"I'll show you drunk," I muttered between swallows. "Think I'm drunk, do you? I don't _think_ so."

"Danni," Mauronk repeated, and this time reached for the mug in my hand. "Stop. You are not yourself."

"Mauronk," I warned, "if you don't back off, I'll go down on you right where you sit. Don't push me."

Confused, he retreated, and I took another long drink. Damn, he was looking so good... Was it hot in here, or just me? Setting the mug aside, I fanned myself with a napkin. Yeah, definitely getting hotter. All over. Heat in my face, my chest... between my legs... wanting relief... _needing_ it...

Rising from my chair, I circled the table to stand in front of Mauronk. My body was quivering all over, like a taut bowstring. If I didn't get my hands on him soon... Without a word, I shoved the table back and straddled his lap, cleaving up against his chest. My arms encircled his neck and I kissed him hard. I felt his hands on my waist, but he didn't embrace me in return.

"Get it up, Mauronk," I breathed against his mouth as I humped his lap desperately. "Give it to me now. God dammit, give it to me. Fuck me. _Please_," I whimpered urgently. It didn't matter that there were layers of woolens, leather, and steel between us - apparently didn't bother me that the bar had several other people in it as well - I knew what he had goin' on, and it was all mine.

"Danni," he groaned, "stop. _Stop_." His protests were feeble, though. He didn't push me off or anything; he just sat there and took it. But he didn't _give_ it. I wanted him to give it. If he didn't, I'd _take_ it.

I was thoroughly shocked to find myself yanked off his lap and dragged across the room. The pissy bitch was smirking as she nodded to one of the people who held me. I swear, all I could think about was Mauronk's dick and how badly I needed to ride it. I barely registered that he'd vaulted out of his chair and pulled his sword. He was coming for me... god, yes, _come on_... pull your _other_ sword out...

"Let her go!" he roared, and I struggled to spread my legs for him without falling on the floor in the process. On the other hand, he could have me on the floor if he wanted. He could have me anywhere, any _way_ he wanted.

"A worthy pair," the bitch sneered. "Subdue him. He will serve. She will make a fine vessel."

A few others grabbed Mauronk's arms and started beating him over the head with cudgels, trying to take him down. He fought viciously, sending more desperate ripples of longing through me. God dammit, he was _hot_ when he got his temper up! Hold him still and bring me to him, if you don't want him coming to me. Shit, I don't care.

One of the guys holding me let go of my arm; a thrill ran through me as I took advantage of the freedom to start unbuckling my leathers. If I could just get this shit off...

"Most... impressive," the bitch hissed. "She truly lusts for this beast." Smirking, she added, "Her desires will be most... entertaining to fulfill." Gesturing to one of my holders, she turned and headed for one of the inn's rooms. The guy next to me pulled out a short blunt object like the handle of a mace. Is that a dildo? Oh god, tell me that's a dildo. If you won't let me have Mauronk, give me one of _those_.

I dimly saw his arm raise out of the corner of my eye, because my focus shifted back to Mauronk and I wondered how I could possibly fuck him if he was unconscious. There had to be a way... I felt a sudden sharp pain, then everything went dark.

* * *

><p>I woke ages later, or maybe hours. It was hard to tell. My head ached so much I couldn't think about anything else for awhile. Not even the throbbing 'do me' going on in my crotch area. I felt hung over, but not especially nauseous. Which was probably why I still wanted a good pounding.<p>

Shaking my head, I gasped for breath like I'd been drowning. I snuck a quick peek and saw wood beamed ceiling. My vision was still a bit bleary, but at least my mind was enough my own that I could take stock. Unfortunately, I could also remember. Horrified, I squeezed my eyes shut again.

What the fuck happened? Did someone slip me Spanish Fly or something? Christ... I've never acted like that. Not in private, and _certainly_ not in a public place. Could I possibly be more humiliated? The worst part was that I had apparently full command of my faculties now, but I still wanted the kind of fucking that lands you in the hospital, and not nine months after the fact. More of an immediate visit for resuscitation purposes. What did that bitch _do_ to me?

I dreaded opening my eyes, like keeping them closed would ensure I was safely in the Bannered Mare with a slightly sweaty Mauronk in my bed. While I could feel... someone... next to me, I had the panicky fear that it wasn't him.

Near as I could tell without looking, I was on a really soft, cushiony surface... like a bed. Only really big. Not those rope-slung affairs or stone slabs or whatever, but a real stuffed-with-animal-hair-fibers sort of mattress. Not Sealy-Posturepedic, but damned comfy for Tamriel. Apart from the unexpectedly lush accommodations, there were... sounds. Lots of sounds. Very uncomfortable, unsettling sounds.

Let's be honest: a lot of fucking was going on all around me. If you've seen even one porn movie in your entire life, you know that sound. Hell, if you've had one night of passionate sex with someone, you know it. I was afraid to open my eyes and find out that some stranger was next to me; afraid to find out I might have screwed whoever he was. Terrified to think that if he so much as wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, my legs would fly open and I'd let him have at me. _Beg_ him to do it, even.

My body was not my own, yet my mind was, and the two of them were in complete disagreement on how to handle the situation. Whatever the situation _was_.

As if to slow down my rising hysteria, the person next to me groaned. Thank god, I'd been around Mauronk long enough that even a generic groan immediately identified him. _Now_ I opened my eyes.

Mauronk was indeed in the huge bed next to me, rubbing his face roughly as he tried to wake up. I hated to turn my head, really didn't want to see what was happening around us, but if I didn't take my eyes off him, I'd have my hands on him. We were both buck-ass naked and my vagina was screaming bloody murder, figuratively speaking. The only thing saving him from a furious fucking was the fact that he wasn't erect at the moment.

I felt sick. This wasn't normal for me, this crazy lust business. I wasn't a nympho. I wasn't one of those people who got off on public sex, either. I'd never been _in the same room_ with another couple having sex. Now I had three of them, ranged at the other four corners of the room, rutting like animals in heat.

It took a few minutes to register that they were all mixed race couples. To our left was a Khajiit man humping a Redguard woman. Diagonally across the room, what looked like a Nord guy was up to the hilt in an Argonian woman. On the right, a Dunmer woman was astride a guy whose regional origin wasn't entirely clear, but he was human.

So... whatever this was, humans were involved. _Why_? What the _hell_ was going on?

"Danni," Mauronk growled low, and I met his eyes. "Where are we?"

I shook my head. "I have no clue. Are you... are you okay?"

He nodded, closing his eyes for a moment and worrying his forehead. Then he seemed to pause as he registered the general atmosphere of the room. He slowly raised his head and looked around, dumbfounded.

"What...?"

"Nice place, isn't it?" I said sarcastically. "I particularly like the drapes. Pity they're not around the beds. I could do without that guy's hairy ass over there."

Struggling to sit up, he seemed to simultaneously realize he was naked, I was naked, they were naked, and oh damn, missed this detail: in the center of the room was a really big rose. The center of the rose was flat, though. Looking at it, I felt a strong urge to go lie down in the middle. It looked like a really nice platform for receiving a solid rogering.

"We have to leave," Mauronk muttered urgently. His breathing began to quicken. "This place... it belongs to Sanguine."

I blinked in confusion. What, the _Daedric Prince_ Sanguine? How in the hell had we stumbled into...?

That bitch. Fuming, I scanned the room, but naturally she was nowhere to be seen. Then I frowned and looked over at Mauronk.

He didn't seem the least bit agitated. Meanwhile, _I_ was itching so bad for a fuck I'd mount anything that _looked_ phallic. Did they think I needed persuading and he didn't? While I tried to parse that weirdness, he turned toward me and leaned close. Ah Christ, dude...

"Are you able to move?" he hissed urgently. "We may need to fight our way out. We should free these folk as well; they are not acting upon their own wills."

"Hey," I said breathily, taking his hand. "All they want us to do is fuck, Mauronk." I parted my thighs and put his hand between them, pressing his fingers against my sex. "Please," I begged.

I could feel my will drifting away like wisps of cloud. I tried to hold on, stay in control, but it was like my vagina was asserting herself with extreme prejudice. I rubbed her with his fingers, holding his gaze. "Give," I breathed. "Give."

Face twitching, he swallowed a few times before yanking his hand away and slapping me hard. I couldn't believe he did that! Holding my smarting cheek and staring incredulously at him, I almost launched a really rude set of swear words intended to fully expound on the dubious nature of his parentage, when he snarled, "You are not yourself!"

Before I could redirect my lecture into other topics, a door I hadn't seen before opened between the Khajiit and the Argonian beds, and Miss Bitch sauntered in. Still wearing her slut dress, too. She wandered over to the Khajiit and stroked his tail, which seemed to set him off in a frenzy. The Redguard was on her hands and knees, her face strained and teeth clenched as she searched diligently for that orgasm.

Either that, or she was just as torn between drug-induced lust and full realization as I was. I started at that thought; if I wasn't already more than familiar with Mauronk's bed before coming here, this would be...

Oh my god. The sounds seemed to change in my ears, and I heard more crying than moaning. The Dunmer woman was begging, all right... but she was begging for it to _stop_. The man she was humping was actually _apologizing_, even as he grit his teeth and grunted his pleasure. The Argonian... I don't think they were _made_ for dicks like that Nord's. She had a mouthful of bed linen to stifle her screams, even as she came with a violent shudder. And the Khajiit... Okay, he looked like he was having the time of his life, but the Redguard had vomited at least once in their bed...

Jesus. Why didn't I see all that before? And why, now that I _had_ seen it, did I _still_ want Mauronk all up in my business? Hard and continuously? Right this god damn second or so help me, I'll finger myself and serve him right for waiting?

I shook my head vigorously, trying to get my mind back online. Then the bitch was at our bed, smirking at me. She glanced once at Mauronk, and it was clear she considered him boot scrapings at best.

"You are not enjoying our Lord's hospitality," she purred, and I had a momentary flash of 'kill' along with a very disturbing image of me sitting on her face.

"Why are we here?" Mauronk snarled, clearly not affected by anything going on in this place. Lucky bastard.

She spared him a withering glance, and addressed me as if _I'd_ asked the question. "A prominent scholar seeks answers, hoping to claim reknown for his discoveries. We are aiding in his research, though such frivolous concerns are beneath us. Please, indulge yourself." She gestured toward Mauronk. "He is well-made, if ugly. He may be masked if you prefer."

"Why...? I'm sorry. What is this scholar going to get out of a bunch of people screwing in a basement?" I asked.

She smiled in that way people do when they think you're an idiot asking idiot questions. "You need not concern yourself. Surely you must feel the need for satisfaction. Is this Orsimer not cooperating?" She raised an eyebrow and glanced at Mauronk accusingly. "Another may be found. In the meantime, I am certain Dar'Zher would be more than happy to attend you." She gestured toward the Khajiit, who was doing that last couple of thrusts at the end of an ejaculation.

I'm going to blame the drug or whatever this whoremonger gave me for the involuntary eyebrow raise and lip lick that occurred when she offered me a chance to fuck a giant cat.

"Uh... no," I said firmly and hopefully convincingly. "I'm, um... I'm good. This one's fine. Um... so..." I gestured helplessly at the other couples. "Why the mix? Any particular reason?"

"Mix?" she asked.

"You know, mixed races," I clarified. "Me and an Orsimer, Khajiit and human, Argonian and human, Dunmer and human... Are you... I mean, is this scholar a total perv or what?"

"Let us say he is unsatisfied with where his fellows' research left off," she replied, beginning to walk away. "Denying scholarship and the pursuit of scientific knowledge on moral grounds." Sighing, she added, "His reasons are of no interest to me."

"What does he _want_, though?" I pressed. "What research? What scientific knowledge?"

She slowly turned and gave me an annoyed look. Like I shouldn't worry about this shit when there was fucking to be done.

"The book is on the table there beside you. That is the work he continues." Shaking her head as though I was a complete ninny, she went to chat up the Dunmer and her partner.

Exchanging a bewildered look with Mauronk, I crawled across the bed to the side where the table was and picked up a coppery-tan-colored book with what looked like a bird embossed on the cover. It was one of those lengthy, boring-ass treatises on racial differences published by some load of yay-hoos called the Council of Healers at the Imperial University. I had no idea what 'phylogeny' was, and no recollection of this book in the game. Not to say it wasn't there; I just never actually read any of the books or took particular note of them. An omission that was likely to bite me in the ass someday.

The sentence almost literally leaped right off the page and hit me square in the face:

_Regrettably, our oaths as healers keep us from forcing a coupling to satisfy our scientific knowledge._

Oh my god. I skimmed the rest of the paragraph and nearly hurled. This batshit crazy scholar the bitch was talking about wanted to see if these mixed races could produce offspring. They were _breeding_ us.


	15. Revelations

**Revelations**

"What does it say?" Mauronk asked, and I jerked awake, it seemed. The idea that _anyone_ could, in good conscience, force people to produce young to prove or disprove a theory... I was frankly stunned. Almost, but not quite, stunned hard enough not to want a dick rammed home for a second.

He wanted a name for himself, did he? Please, whoever's in charge of biological research at that college, pickpocket him and leave a grenade in his pants.

"Apparently, Mauronk," I replied stiffly, "they are making us fuck... for science."

He stared at me for a moment. "What?"

Waving the book, and shrugging helplessly, I explained, "The folks who wrote this book relied on... interviews, I guess. They... assumed things like _this_..." I gestured to the other couples, then to us. Admittedly, with embarrassment when I indicated _us_. "This doesn't happen without... force. Either physical or magickal. They didn't think it was morally justifiable to... do what this insane bastard is apparently doing."

"It is... a common belief," he muttered, looking away. "One I embraced as well." I frowned; did he _still_ believe it? I thought we'd had this conversation... Continuing, he growled, "What else does it say? Are we simply... rutting for their amusement?"

Wincing, I said, "Not... just that, I'm sure. I have a feeling this Sanguine guy isn't your average, run of the mill, burn-loot-and-pillage sort of Daedric Prince, right?"

Mauronk glanced around and growled, "No. His sphere is debauchery. Dark fantasies realized. He revels in indulgences of the flesh, as do his followers."

"Ah," I nodded, feeling a bit sick. "Couldn't have picked better support staff for his project, then." Gathering myself, which wasn't easy, I went on, "We're expected... well... if the jerkwad is carrying on _this_ research, he's wanting to see if... these races can produce young together. They're trying to im-... impregnate us."

He fixed me with a very intense look that was made more unsettling by his dark red eyes. I didn't know what he was thinking about, and for a moment my own freaking out took hold. _Thinking_ it was upsetting enough. Saying it out loud...

Oh god. I didn't want a baby, not here! Not in this world, where I was pretty damn sure there were no such things as epidurals and if it was born breech you may as well write out your will! I didn't want to have _another_ helpless person to protect. Keeping my own worthless ass alive was a full-time job as it was. I was a _lousy_ protector, in any case. I couldn't keep Mauronk safe for shit, _obviously_; look at where we were now!

I must've been panicking, because Mauronk took hold of my shoulders and shook me a little.

"Danni," he said urgently. "We will escape. There are bottles all around; we can break them, use them as weapons. You won't be... forced to... to bear... I _promise._ I _will_ protect you from... from enduring... I will spare you that. I promise."

Lucid thought was having a hard time maintaining its grip with him so near, his hands on me, his dick hard... A small part of my mind registered that he looked terribly upset. Not like panicked, but hurt. Very hurt and humiliated. I had no idea why.

The bigger, more vaginally-ruled part of me was in _pain_. I've had guys tell me that if they don't come, like if they get close and have to stop for whatever reason, it's _really_ uncomfortable. I always laughed at them like they'd come up with any excuse to plow me that sounded remotely plausible. Yet here I was, sitting naked on some very well made, smooth, clean sheets that sort of _slid_ underneath when I moved even a little bit, there was a hot, _hot_ stud of an Orsimer within inches, and he had a raging hard on with my name on it.

If _I_ didn't get some relief, if _I_ didn't come, I'd cry. I mean that. It was beyond uncomfortable, being so engorged with anticipation and lust and wanting and needing...

"Mauronk, _please_," I begged, reaching for his dick. He extended his arms, moving himself back out of reach. "Please, I need relief. I can't even _think_. _Please_. Just... just a _little_ fuck. Your fingers, your tongue... _anything_."

"No," he said firmly, but there was a bit of shake in his voice as he continued. "You are not in your right mind. I will not take advantage of this." His head moved from side to side as he tried to look anywhere but at me or the others. "I _can't_."

"I... I _need_ it," I pleaded desperately. It was like a drug I couldn't stand and hated like nobody's business, but I needed to have it or everything, _everything_ would be bad. At least if I could get it from him, it would be all right. I knew what he could do for me, what it felt like to be with him. That's what I wanted right now, that fuck on the rock, or the hilting he gave me outside of Riverwood. Bent over frontwards or backwards, I wanted him _so badly_.

His hands on my arms tightened, and his voice was almost as desperate as mine. "I can't stand seeing you in pain, Danni. I would help you if I could, but not like _this_." He paused for a moment and took a deep breath. "I love you. With every part of my soul, I love you. I can't do this to you. I can't."

I sat there a little stunned. Okay, a _lot_ stunned. I suspected, guessed, maybe assumed. But to actually hear it from him, spoken so intently like an oath... I was struck speechless.

"I promise, when we are free of this place, when the potion they gave you has worn off and you are in your right mind, I will give you whatever you want. I will do whatever you want me to do. Please you any way you want. But I will not touch you while you are under their influence."

Again, the lust took over, imagining all the things I'd have him do to me later. Probably not what he was going for. But if clear thinking was ever going to happen, I needed to take the edge off. I'd have to thank him for his honorable restraint later; for right now, Miss Vag was bellowing a war cry.

"All right... I'll... god dammit," I breathed, wincing as throbbing wave after wave rolled through. "Jesus, Mauronk, if you're going to be... a good boy... Do you mind if I'm... a bad girl for a sec? I need... so badly... Just... let go of me so I can... take care of this."

"All right," he nodded uncertainly, and let go.

And so began the most embarrassing, humiliating event in my entire life: facing my lover on a strange bed with my legs spread wide, in a strange room surrounded by wildly fucking couples, with my fingers working my twat like a freaky web cam slut. Mauronk made a brave attempt to look away, but was not particularly successful. His hand strayed to his penis and gave it a little stroke before he caught himself and stopped.

With him there, his breathing getting a little more heavy each moment, his eyes very likely trained on me, I couldn't help it, I hit critical mass really quickly. God yes, _watch me_. Does this turn you on? I can make it last. I can draw it out until you can't help yourself. Go ahead; grab your dick again. I want to see _you_. Show me how you do it. _Show me_.

I fell over backwards and convulsed for at least a couple of minutes, that was such a _huge_ orgasm. I've never come so hard for so long by myself. Apparently, I hadn't been quite so dedicated before. I kept it going for a bit, rhythmically rubbing to drag out the last vestiges, making that descent last a bit longer. I felt like I'd been watching hours and hours of porn – really _good_ porn, not the trash that involves loads of blowjobs and facials as if women actually _like_ that shit in their hair – without being able to do anything, then finally got to _do something_.

Mauronk looked like he was disappointed in himself for not joining in when he had the chance. Either that or he was uncomfortable for another reason. I didn't want to dwell on the likely cause of his discomfort, which was probably the whore-ible behaviors _I_ was displaying.

When my breathing settled and coherent thought had the opportunity to reign supreme for a moment, I curled up in a ball and hugged myself, refusing to look at him. I heard him shift positions a bit, then felt his hand on my back, rubbing gently as if I was lying on the bathroom floor after a really prolonged vomit.

"Are you all right, Danni?" he murmured quietly.

I was close to tears as I replied, "I can't even look at you right now. I feel... so dirty. Not like... 'who's a naughty girl' sort of dirty, but... filthy. Unclean. In an ucky way. I don't want to feel this way, I don't want to do this shit. I just... can't help it. I hope... when we get out... you forget _everything_ you saw me do."

"I will do my best... to forget," he swore bravely. "Can you think now? We must make some sort of plan. When that woman returns, we must subdue her. Find out how we may escape. If there are very many others here. Locks or guards... we need information."

Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I nodded, then a thought formed in my mind. A giant, massive flaw in the whole operation. "Mauronk... why didn't they give _you_ this drug? Wouldn't it be... kind of dangerous having a clear-thinking Orc on the loose in a place like this?" I looked over my shoulder at him, and he looked even more humiliated than he had before. It struck me briefly that this entire situation was even harder on him than it was on me, for entirely different reasons.

"They do not know Orsimer well," he said in a quiet voice laced with bitterness. "And they certainly do not know me."

"No, they don't," I agreed. "You're a good man, Mauronk. A very, very good man. I trust you. I have to follow your lead because I can't think straight." The tears started up again and my voice quavered. "I'm starting to want again. Please hurry. Think of something."

"Right," he nodded. "There are bottles all around. We can break a few off, and we will have edged weapons." An uncomfortable chuckle snuck out of him, and he touched the scar on his cheek. "I did not get this in honorable battle. It was a bar fight. Someone broke a bottle and struck me. It was fists only until that moment... until he cut me." His voice faded and he looked away.

Frowning, I sat up. "And then what happened?"

"I killed him," Mauronk muttered. "I was enraged. I lost my head... quite a bit. I was injured, angry... and drunk."

Nervously, I admit, I nodded in agreement. "See? I told you. Heavy drinking will get you in trouble."

"It did," he continued. "I was in prison for a year. The Cidhna Mine in Markarth."

"A year? For murder?" I asked incredulously. "That's all?"

"That is all that is needed, believe me," he replied tightly. His clenched jaw worked for a moment, as if he was pushing away some really dark memories, then he seemed to rally. "How are you feeling?"

Now was probably not the time to dredge up painful pasts, so I filed this one away for later. It hit me hard that I didn't know diddly squat about him. He used to be a mercenary, and he sometimes drank too much. That's pretty much all I knew. Yet I swear, I would do anything for him. He was _very_ important to me. Maybe I wasn't ready to use the 'L' word in a sentence describing my feelings for him, but... it wasn't far away. What I knew about him was mostly based on his behavior post-Helgen, because he was a total bastard while we were there.

How could he, in a matter of days, be able to say he loves me when he was such a prick to me then?

"Talking seems to be... keeping me... sort of calm," I replied. "So... maybe we should keep going."

He nodded. "Yes. Talking must be distracting you. We should talk until she gets back. What should we talk about?"

God, where to begin? Who are you? What kind of man are you? What have you done all your life? Who's your hero? Did you grow up here in Skyrim in a stronghold, or did you come from some other place? There was so much I didn't know! Dammit, I went gleefully to bed with a total stranger.

Since it was more recently on my mind, I decided to start with that. "How about... we talk about Helgen. I mean, when we were trying to get out of there, you were kind of mean to me. Then you pretty much did a one-eighty when we got out. I just don't understand what your feelings were; how they could change so quickly."

He bowed his head, looking _really_ uncomfortable. It took him a few moments to force himself to speak, during which time I was getting more worried. What the hell was he going to tell me? Naturally, since I didn't know him from Adam, I had no damn idea.

"I wanted you from the start," he said tightly, avoiding my eyes.

When he paused, I felt the need to make some sort of reply. All I could manage was, "Oh." Not very intelligent, but it was kind of stunning. He sure as hell didn't act like... Wait, maybe he _did_. He started out being... semi-sociable, calling me 'Little One' and whatnot. Then it all sort of went to hell... "In the wagon?" I managed, just to be clear _when_ this amazing transformation occurred.

To my surprise, he nodded. "Yes."

"I see," I whispered in confusion. "But you were... I mean... How...?"

"Please understand, Danni, I had never felt... that way... for a woman who was not Orsimer," he explained. "The more I knew you, the more angry I became... with _myself_. I could not believe I wanted you so badly, and not just... not just for sex."

He actually winced, and maybe I did too. Okay, so he had one of those immediate physical attraction things hit him. It happens. I can't swear in a court of law that I didn't look at the full package that was Mauronk – since he displayed it so damned _openly_ – and have a few impure thoughts go through my mind as well. Except... he said 'not _just_ for sex.'

"I wanted...to _mate_ with you," he continued. "To be with you. Stand by your side. For... for always."

"But... I wasn't... an Orsimer," I ventured when he paused. "So... did you think it was... wrong? To feel that way?"

"There is a lot that is different between our races," Mauronk replied. "Too much of what my people do offends _your_ people. I tried not to offend you, and... I failed. Repeatedly." His voice got even quieter. "I tried not to hurt you, and I... I failed. Repeatedly. It is safer for me to be with another Orsimer."

I could hear misery in his voice, though his head was bowed too deeply for me to see it in his face. There was quite a bit building in _me_ as well. This confession of his had 'I think it would be better if we saw other people' written all over it.

Not now, Mauronk. Don't leave me hanging in a place like this. _Please_. I... I thought you _loved_ me.

"Oh... okay," I whimpered. "So... so why did you... hit me? Because I wasn't... good enough?"

"No," he insisted, and finally looked up. "I was angry at you... because you weren't what I thought I wanted. What I thought I _should_ want. You're not... brave, you're not skilled in battle, you're not... Orsimer." He must have seen the devastated look on my face, and likely the tears starting to fall. "I wanted... to _make_ you Orsimer, if only in... spirit. An Orsimer woman would have... responded in kind. You did not." He bowed his head, clearly ashamed. "I am sorry, Danni."

"I'm... I'm still not those things," I sobbed, wiping the tears off my face. I thought diddling myself in front of him was humiliating enough; this was worse. "Does that mean...?"

"No," he said firmly, and took hold of my hands. His voice trembled, as if his mastery over his own emotions was faltering. "No. I have... I have fallen in love with you... so far, I can never rise again. Danni, I am so sorry... for the way I treated you, for what I did, the things I thought. You... you are... _everything_ to me, and I... I am so sorry. I want you as you are. I love you as you are. Whether you are Orsimer or not, it does not matter; I love _Danni_. By my blood, before the eyes of Malacath, I swear, _I love you_, and I will not leave your side until death takes me from you."

I had no answer but relieved tears and a tight embrace. He held me, rocked me, stroked my hair and my back. I held him so close, and for that brief moment, it was bliss. No artificially-induced lust intruded on this moment.

He loved me. Maybe I wasn't ready to say it myself, but I knew it was growing. I _wanted_ it to grow. I wanted to nurture that feeling as if I was a dedicated bonsai gardener. Once we were in a safer place for it, anyway.

Then the door opened, and the bitch was back.


	16. Exodus

**Exodus**

She didn't come in alone. The woman had an entourage of about seven thralls carrying trays heaped with food. Oh god, the smell was almost as overpoweringly delicious as Mauronk's... um... well... nevermind. My mouth watered and I leaned forward in eager anticipation.

"Danni," Mauronk hissed, taking hold of my arm. "She threatened to fetch you another if we didn't... Now is not the time to act. Not until the others are with us."

"But... I'm _hungry_," I whimpered, unable to take my eyes off the people laying trays on our little tables. I might have noticed that they weren't all human, but what specific races were represented wasn't as important as the food: heaps of meat from who knew or cared what random animals, carrots and leeks on beds of cabbage, big juicy tomatoes and roasted potatoes... My stomach was bitching up a storm. Then I noticed the carriers were all men, working their way in our direction: lovely muscled men in loincloths that looked hastily, and clumsily, wrapped to conceal the ricks of wood they were sporting. Holy crap. I couldn't swear my mouth was watering for food _now_.

"_Danni_," Mauronk hissed again, and I looked at him. How could I even _think_ about someone else when not five seconds ago he opened his heart to me? And he was so much more beautiful than them...

"Turn around, quickly," he hastily instructed, practically man-handling me. "On your knees, _now_." Bewildered, I let him position me, then quite unexpectedly, he rammed his hips against my ass. Oh god, _yes_! One for the Gipper! Make me beg, you marvelous stud! Oh yes, you can fuck my ass, I don't even care which hole you go for, just give me all you've got, as _hard_ as you can...

Wait a second. I could feel his increasingly hardening penis stroking, but he wasn't actually _inside_ me in any way. God dammit! He was _faking_ it? You rotten son of a bitch...

"Pretend you like this," he breathed urgently, his hands gripping my hips tightly. "At least... _fuck_... at least until she's gone." His voice wasn't all that steady, probably because he was digging a furrow through my nethers, so close to the glory hole, one slip would take me to heaven.

"Dammit, Danni," he growled under his breath. "This is difficult enough; stop squirming."

Oh, was I shifting my hips a bit, arching my back, maneuvering for penetration? Was I really doing that? Sorry! My bad.

Dimly, my right mind was screaming at me to dial it back, for Christ's sake. This was serious. He wasn't fake-fucking to tease me or because he couldn't resist being in contact with my vagina. That bitch said she'd get me another. She said I could be 'serviced' by the Khajiit, if my Orsimer didn't step up. As long as she thought we were 'on board the fuck train,' she'd leave us be. And she wouldn't be prepared when we staged a revolt.

Sure enough, when she led the over-used studs to our corner and they laid out our refreshments (god, how sick is _that_?), I could hear the smirk in her voice as she said, "Very good. I was beginning to have my doubts. It does not surprise me you prefer not to look at him. No potion known to man or mer can disguise what Boethiah wrought upon his folk."

Though I was tempted, I restrained the urge to interrupt my semi-fake moaning to ask what the fuck _that_ was supposed to mean. I thought the Orcs worshipped Malacath, for crying out loud. What's this Boethiah shit? Hell, all I could remember of Boethiah was a book you had to steal way back in Morrowind: _Boethiah's Pillow Book_. I didn't remember the titles of many books, but that one stuck out. Right alongside _The Lustful Argonian Maid_. Volumes one _and_ two. For the serious collector.

It figures. I forget highly important works like the phylogeny, but I remember dirty books like _those_. God, I'm an asshole.

Mauronk growled in response, but said nothing coherent. That would probably have taken too much attention away from his diligent attempt to fuck me without fucking me.

No sooner had the door closed and the partiers departed for more partying (yeah, the Bitch looked like she'd thrown her dress back on just for propriety's sake, like that has any meaning for someone like her – you could tell by the bite marks on her shoulders and the mussed hair that she'd been turned upside down by one of the guys she brought in with the snack trays... or several of them at once, I wouldn't be surprised), then Mauronk got off me and vaulted off the bed. I collapsed face down, but kept my butt up a little... just in case. Hope, even drugged hope, springs eternal.

"Do not eat the food!" Mauronk barked at the others. I forced myself to sit up and watch him. The first bed he went to was the Khajiit and Redguard's, and the first thing he did was grab that horny-assed Dar'Zher by the mane.

"Get off her," he snarled through clenched teeth. Excitement stirred and my loins quivered; he was so forceful! Then I felt an answering rumble of nausea. _Concentrate_, Danni.

"This one is not done," the Khajiit growled, pinning his ears back and baring his teeth.

"This one is _fucking_ finished," Mauronk snarled back, and added a firm hand to the cat's throat. "Get off her, or I break your neck."

"Your words have wisdom, Orc," Dar'Zher rasped uncomfortably, slowly disengaging from the Redguard. "And your hands have much strength."

"Eat and drink _nothing_," Mauronk warned, and left them alone as he made the circuit, interrupting the others.

I watched him, every move he made, and listened to every word. My god. Where did that kind of discipline come from? He must have swallowed the equivalent of an atomic bomb; I could hear him behind me, getting _really_ close to orgasm just rubbing against my underpinnings. Then he just... buried it. He was the same way in Helgen; the place was chaos, admittedly, but he kept a clear head. He could've knocked Ralof out of the way and taken charge easily. And I would have followed him, as these people seemed eager to do now.

"Listen to me," Mauronk said once he had everyone's eyes on him, "I have a plan. We will make what weapons we can from the things in this room. The bottles are one; the wooden trays are another. Anything we can get our hands on. Can any of you cast?"

"I can," the Dunmer woman said, raising her hand. She looked done-in, taking deep breaths like she'd just run a marathon. Or stopped running from something that wouldn't give up the chase.

"Good. We will benefit from your skills," he replied kindly, and I noticed something else. Mauronk was being particularly solicitous to the women. Maybe he considered their victimization more profound than the men's. I wasn't so sure; the guy next to the Dunmer couldn't even raise his head, and just kept his hands clasped between his knees. The Nord, now that his dick was no longer buried in a lizard's hind quarters, looked like he was going to be sick. The Redguard woman _was_ sick... _again_. Their bed seriously needed a linen refresh.

My eyes flicked to Dar'Zher, the only one whose name I knew. _He_ was idly stroking his dick, like he was thinking any minute now the annoying Orc show would end and he could get back to business. I had to do a double-take; I've never seen a domestic cat's penis, or a lion's for that matter, but I had _no idea_ they were barbed. What the fuck is _that_? No _wonder_ the Redguard was in tears.

"Are any of you fighters?" Mauronk asked, scanning the crowd. "We will need to fight to get out of here, I have no doubt."

"Why must we?" Dar'Zher purred. "This place is good for Dar'Zher. There is good food that he need not steal. Warm bed, warm body..." He glanced at the Redguard woman huddled in a shivering ball. "All for some fucking. Dar'Zher does not wish to leave."

Mauronk didn't appear to have any patience with that sort of shit. He marched up to the Khajiit and knocked his hands away from his dick. Ouch; that must've hurt.

"It is not _fucking_ you have been about," the Orsimer snarled furiously. "You have been _raping_ this woman. You will _stop_."

To his credit, Dar'Zher's kitty eyebrows bunched uncertainly. "But... she begged for it..."

"She was _drugged!"_ Mauronk roared, thumping Dar'Zher's shoulder and nearly sending him across the room. I'm sure he wanted to. "So were you. It is in the food, in the ale... All of you are affected." He turned, meeting the shocked eyes of everyone in the room in turn.

Dar'Zher seemed to rally and growled, "Yet your mind is clear. Is that because Orsimer are less... reluctant? Because they are not troubled by the cries of their victims? Is it because they lie, steal, murder and rape without care...?"

It only took Mauronk a couple of strides to return to Dar'Zher, and only a couple of seconds to have the cat pinned to the wall by the throat. "I have never raped," he snarled close to the Khajiit's face, "but I have murdered. Several times. Do not tempt me to commit another one."

Not gonna lie, that little tidbit made me a smidgen nervous. Like a deer caught in headlights. _Several_? Did he count bandits in that several? Jesus, Mauronk... who the hell _are_ you?

Now's not the time. Mauronk's threat, true or not, did a pretty good job of informing the Khajiit what sort of man he was dealing with. He shut the hell up about racial slurs from that point on.

"As I said," Mauronk continued, releasing Dar'Zher and addressing the rest of us, "the food and drink are likely tainted. Do not touch _any_ of it. We will escape, but the effects of what was given to you must wear off. If you need to relieve yourselves, manage it on your own. Do not use one another."

"You will lead us, then?" the Nord asked in a hollow voice. He seemed to be pleading, hoping _someone_ would take charge.

Mauronk nodded. "Yes. I will take her down when she comes. She must be questioned first; that is most important. We need to know what resistance stands between us and freedom."

"It does not matter," the other man growled, his fists clenching angrily. "None shall leave this place. For what we were forced to do... there will be a reckoning." He didn't look up, but I didn't think he really required agreement at this point. His tension was high, like if we pointed him in the direction of ass, he'd rush right in and kick the shit out of it, with or without backup.

"I never thought I would agree with an Imperial dog," the Nord muttered. "At least you were partnered with something palatable..."

I didn't need to see any of the women flinch to leap to their defense. "Hey!" I snapped. "Knock that shit off, or so help me, I'll bury this gourd in your ass." I waved the aforementioned food item for emphasis. "Don't you _dare_ treat this like an unfortunate round of spin the bottle. Some sick fuck put these ass-tards up to trying to _cross-breed_ you, all right? They were making you rape each other to see if you could produce little half-breed kids_._ There's no such thing as 'you're lucky you got that one' in this scenario. Got it?"

The Nord swallowed and looked away.

"Are we clear?" Mauronk interjected. "When she returns, _alone_, I will subdue her. You men... come help me with these plates. If we snap them along the grain, we may be able to make serviceable daggers..."

I let the menfolk distract themselves with weaponry, and went to the Redguard. It was like an unspoken woman thing; the Dunmer and Argonian followed me, and the four of us huddled on the bed together. The Argonian discreetly covered the vomit with a blanket.

"Are you okay?" I asked the Redguard quietly. She was shivering all over, to the point of convulsive twitching, and I could hear her choked sobbing. Dammit, this was going to be difficult. Unsure what else to do, I rubbed her back.

"No... no one... will... will believe me," she whispered haltingly. "My... my hus-... husband... We... we... we wanted... chil-... children..." She dissolved in tears, and it just broke my heart.

I also looked at the sheets. There was blood streaked here and there, some dried, some fresh. I had to cover my mouth or I'd throw up myself. That barbed penis... God, cats suck. She probably thought she was ruined, that her inner workings were mangled. I kind of doubted it; those weren't particularly long spikes, but they still must have hurt like hell. The Dunmer didn't say a word; she just laid her hands on the Redguard's hip and began murmuring a healing spell.

"You'll be all right," I told her, though I'm sure I didn't sound particularly convincing. The Argonian's eyes closed and she bowed her head, nodding.

"There is reason why some races do not mix," she said. "For Khajiit and Argonian alike, only we may endure the pain of union." To my surprise, she looked at me with what I had to interpret as sympathy, because she said, "At least we do not bear lasting marks of what was done to us here. You, I am afraid, shall wear your shame for always."

Excuse me, what?

"I will tell no one of this," the Dunmer said quietly, her spell complete. "We will slay all who dwell within, then burn the inn to the ground. Let the flames take our humiliation and pain to the gods." A cold look crossed her face. "I will face Sanguine alone in Oblivion if he dares seek vengeance for the deaths of his followers. Their lives are forfeit."

"Just to be clear...," I ventured, but the Redguard was speaking again.

"How could I... I didn't want... I _didn't._ It hurt... it hurt so much... yet I... I couldn't help myself..."

"Hey, it's okay," I said soothingly, pretty much giving up my original idea to qualify the whole gigantic set of teeth marks on my shoulder. Probably not a good idea after what these ladies just went through. "They gave you a drug to make you want it. Make your _body_ want it, not your mind."

"Indeed, that is the case," the Argonian joined in. She likewise stroked the Redguard's hair. "None of us wanted this, not even the men who coupled with us."

"Raped," I corrected. "You can't deny..."

"I do not," she countered, "but who is the rapist here? The men were coerced in the same manner as we were. Except of course, the Orsimer. But his kind are not known for passing up... opportunities." Once more, her reptilian eyes flicked to my shoulder.

"It is the followers of Sanguine who stand accused," the Dunmer concluded firmly. "By my hand, they will die. Then I will raise them up again and slay them a second time."

That idea kind of... Well, heebie jeebies didn't entirely cover it. I shuddered a bit. On the other hand, I saw what they went through. Pure chance landed me in the familiar arms of Mauronk. Had it been anyone else, I would be lying in a puddle of puke like the Redguard. Who was I to stand between these women and their vengeance? Who was I _not_ to stand at their side in solidarity for their suffering?

Hell hath no fury, man. You go, girlfriend. I'm right behind you.

The sound of wood striking stone echoed in the room. The Redguard struggled to sit up, wiping her tears and joining us in looking toward the noise. Probably anywhere else, at any other time, the sight of four naked men snapping wooden platters into shards on a giant stone rose would have caused a titter or two.

Well, three naked men and a giant cat. His angry little soldier was still peeking out of his thick crotch fur, pretty much commanding the eye to _look at it_. God, that was freaky as hell. I forced myself to note his coloration instead of lingering on his private parts. He was like a big grey-striped tabby cat, except on his head was additional greyish black hair done up in braids. He was apparently a dandy; there were several rings in his ears and clamped on the braids. He even had a mustache with gold rings.

The Imperial man brought a bunch of the broken wooden shards to us. He still couldn't look any of us in the eyes. "Here. Tear off strips of cloth and bind the handles. To protect us." Awkwardly dumping the armload on the bed, he headed back to the other boys and helped Mauronk with his latest project: converting an iron candlestand into an unadorned metal rod for striking and, no doubt, stabbing.

"It is unfortunate there are no better ingredients here," the Dunmer grumbled as she got up to fetch a sheet from my bed. "I should like to craft an agonizing poison for these weapons."

Smirking, I said, "Do you really think that's necessary? I mean, it didn't sound like you or the others were intending to let them live long enough to enjoy your work."

For the first time, the Dunmer smiled. "I would have them suffer for every minute, every hour, every _day_ I spent in that man's bed. But I also wish to be quit of this place with all speed. I must content myself with their bloody deaths, swiftly if needs be."

The Argonian took the sheet and, using her teeth, started several tears. She began ripping the sheet into strips. "Blame the followers of Sanguine, not the Imperial. It was not his choice."

The Dunmer met her eyes. "I am not... angry with him. What of the Nord? Are you as generous to him? As understanding?"

She slowly lowered the sheet and her brow furrowed. "When one is a slave, one does not question. One does not defy. One... endures." She glanced up at the Dunmer. "There are some who have used us before. We are not made for union with those who are not Argonians, but... they have tested us. Curiosity, mostly. For we are slaves, and who would we tell? Who would believe us? Who would defend us?" She shook her head and resumed tearing the sheet. "At least in this, the Nord was not master. Not of me, or of himself. I know the difference."

My mind leaped back to that stupid play about the horny Argonian maid. The game only gave you a few pages laced with double entendres of the extreme groaning kind. Really eye-rolling stuff. Now I wondered if the _real_ version, in full, here in actual Tamriel, might not have kindled a little bit of kinky interest. And since both Khajiiti _and_ Argonians were so often enslaved...

Ew. I got a queasy feeling in my stomach, and my heart went out to the Argonian. She was rolling with this punch because she'd been punched so often before, it was routine. God, point me and my lame archery skills where you need me to start shooting, honey. Just, you know, don't stand anywhere between me and the target. I'm still not all that good at it.

We wrapped the wooden dagger-like contraptions the best we could. At least we were doing something; it took our minds off the waning effects of the potion. Still, every once in awhile, someone's hand slipped down to do a little maintenance work. Mine included. Just a little grope to take the edge off. By the time the bottles had been broken, the plates had all been dumped and turned into stakes, and three of the half dozen candle stands had been converted into heavy quarterstaffs, we were all feeling a lot closer to normal. Normal enough to resume our places, that is.

I couldn't help sighing with relief. Dar'Zher for all his apparent horniness was sitting apart from the Redguard woman, unable to say anything or even look at her. The Nord and the Argonian were similarly quiet. Not a word came out of the Dunmer or the Imperial, either. Mauronk was stationed with his ear to the door, a stake in his hand, waiting.

He didn't have to wait long. Thankfully, because OSHA never sent a fire marshall to Skyrim, the door opened into the room, allowing Mauronk to remain hidden for a moment.

The Bitch came in alone and I had to stifle a laugh at her dumbfounded expression. There was broken glass all over the floor around the rose. Food was spilled randomly around the room, because nobody considered neatness when they emptied the platters and started pounding them into pieces. The three other couples were sitting idly on their beds, not engaged in any sort of physical contact at all. The fourth couple was one Orsimer short. Oh my, wherever could he _be_?

Right up your ass, sister.

Mauronk came up behind her and wrapped his muscular arm around her neck, and aimed a stake point at her heart. Because she was wearing that slut dress, there wasn't even a semi-comforting layer of cloth between his weapon and certain death. She gasped with shock and instinctively grabbed his arm with both hands.

"We've got some questions for you, bitch," Mauronk snarled next to her ear. Everyone started getting off the beds and closing in.

I've never really seen that kind of terror in a person's eyes. It struck me that, while she was undoubtedly a reprehensible pig of a woman, she wasn't a warrior. She used drugs and thugs to put us down here. I don't think she even used magic. She certainly didn't call upon it now.

"Please...," she begged, quickly losing her former grip. Not the one in charge anymore, are we? "Don't kill me."

"No promises," I told her.

"How many more are in this place?" Mauronk continued. "We have seen you, and seven men. How many more?"

"That is all," she replied tremulously, and the Orsimer jerked his arm tighter.

"No lies!" he barked sharply. A small amount of blood welled up around the dagger point.

"Twelve!" she cried, and I heard a trickling sound. Holy crap, he made her pee herself. "There are only twelve."

"Where are they? How far underground are we? How do we get out?" Mauronk pressed on.

"Slay her," the Dunmer demanded. "I will raise her, and command her to lead us out. Your questions are pointless."

"I want to know if they are worthless piles of shit like her," Mauronk retorted, "or well-armed warriors. Answer!" He jerked his arm again, and the woman broke down in tears.

"None are armed," she sobbed. "They practice the rites of Sanguine. It is the hour of joining. I was... I was just... I came to ensure you had eaten before taking part..."

"Joining," the Imperial repeated. "What does that mean?"

"Probably that they're fucking," Mauronk suggested. "Are they? Is that what they're all up to right now?"

"Yes!" the woman cried, squeezing her eyes shut. "Do not hurt me, please. It was the scholar. He demanded it."

"Where is he?" the Nord broke in. "I would have my hands about his throat. Is he in this place?"

"No, no, no," the woman sobbed, then she started babbling. "He is in Cyrodiil. I do not know where. All we have are letters from him; he has never been here. He engaged our services; he promised a grand temple for our use if we helped him. He wished for us to gather folk of particular races and encourage them to procreate. That is all, I swear!"

"Encourage them to procreate," I repeated thoughtfully. "So... instead of hosting romantic dinners with candlelight and expensive wine, you drugged us and made us rape each other. That, I think, is a very broad interpretation of your original mission, _bitch_."

"Enough of this," the Dunmer growled, and using her own stake, she drove it into the woman's gut. That set off a sort of frenzy like one would see after the chum hits the water. Mauronk quickly released the screaming, convulsing woman and stepped away. The other six swarmed her.

All I saw were weapons rising and falling in quick succession. I couldn't see the woman anymore. In fact, I couldn't even _watch_; turning toward Mauronk, I nearly dove into his arms and hid my face against his shoulder, trying not to hear. Even without the woman's screams, since she probably died really quickly, it was horrible listening to the sound of wooden stakes and glass bottles piercing and cutting flesh and muscle.

Everything went quiet, but I just wasn't ready to turn around. The Dunmer, true to her word, started murmuring a spell. The air around us got cold and tingly, like frost was descending really fast. The others backed away, and I finally stole a peek. Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Just like in the game, when you raise someone from the dead, they sort of have this weird magical glow about them. That's pretty much where the resemblance ended. The bitch was barely held together, it looked like. Her chest was torn apart, breasts just... _gone_. They'd split open her gut, letting her intestines spill down. There was a great deal of blood down her legs, leading me to believe a few of those stakes were driven home in a particularly private place.

I had to close my eyes and look away. That was the sort of thing I was certain to have nightmares about.

"Are you all right, Danni?" Mauronk said quietly. All I could manage was a nod. Then I felt him stiffen.

"What is this?" the Nord asked tightly. "Let her go. She is no longer yours to rape."

Reluctantly, Mauronk withdrew, his head bowed. "Apologies," he muttered.

My heart and gut clenched hard. We didn't have time for me to defend us or get into a lengthy conversation about what he meant to me. I hugged my middle, feeling sick. These people believed the sort of thing that was between me and Mauronk required drugs to accomplish. I guess it was the thread they were clinging to so they didn't go insane. Gods forbid they should ever, under normal circumstances, consider the possibility that they might be interested in someone from another race. Denial was safer, and we weren't really helping by being 'friendly.'

Probably foremost on their minds, though, was the assumption that not an hour ago, he was raping me. I had to swallow the reality that if they saw me so much as touching him, it would do more than just disgust them from a simply racial point of view. They'd likely kill him, thinking they were defending me from further indignities. God, I just wanted out of here, and away from them, as quickly as possible.

"This way," Mauronk growled, hefting his metal rod and leading us out the door. The nightmare on legs was urged to follow in his wake, and we came after. Right outside our private den of iniquity was a slightly smaller room with several wardrobes and chests. We ranged out, opening drawers and prying open lids. Thank god, they were full of our clothes and equipment. Maybe I'd gotten used to being naked, like I probably would if I was at a nude beach and _everyone_ was letting it all hang out, but it sure felt good to be back in my leather armor, holding that longbow, a quiver full of arrows on my back. Everyone looked a ton braver with real steel in their hands as well.

They weren't all in armor, either. The Nord, Argonian, and Redguard were all dressed in civvies. The Imperial wore steel like Mauronk, and the Dunmer wore one of those obviously enchanted robes mages get off on. Dar'Zher wore rags, like he was a prisoner or dirt poor or some kind of indigent guy when he was 'volunteered.'

The Dunmer made Bloody Mary lead us beyond the dressing room into a long hallway. It was obvious that the reason why nobody heard her screams was because up and down the hall were shut doors. They weren't particularly well-soundproofed, though. You could hear pretty clearly what kind of activity was going on behind each one.

"This one first," Mauronk ordered, and readied his sword. The walking corpse dutifully opened the door.

It would be cold-hearted and bloodthirsty to say the horrified looks on the faces of the three men piled on top and inside of the one woman in the room when their fearless leader walked in, were comical. I could see into the room, but I didn't enter, nor did I ready my bow. There were five pissed off people standing between me and a clear shot; it was safest if I didn't shoot at all.

I wasn't entirely surprised to find Dar'Zher hanging out with me in the back row. This didn't seem like his cup of tea, either.

Bringing up the rear gave me a good view of the mayhem, though. Mauronk, being the first one into the room, speared through the clusterfuck going on, pinning the DPing trio to their bed. The Imperial nailed the third man with his sword, then they proceeded to hack the screaming bodies to pieces.

Well, Mauronk didn't. He retreated to the hallway and opened the next door. An unearthly cry greeted him, and he roared right back, then launched himself into the room with sword raised. The Dunmer joined him, and I peeked over their heads.

Wow. A dremora. Some people have the kinkiest fantasies. As expected, the Dunmer celebrated the victory by carving the daedra's heart out. Alchemists and their ingredient harvesting. Damn, is this really the right time, lady?

As we barged into the next two rooms, where slightly more sedate one-on-one activities were going on, I had to wonder why all the noise wasn't alerting them to the wave of death rolling up the corridor. By the time the last room was reached, replete with two men engaged in some really amazingly acrobatic mutual buggering, it was clear that we hadn't been the only ones partaking of the 'special brew.' When Mauronk was getting pounded into the ground, I only had sex on my mind, after all. Obviously one of the effects of the drug, once it peaks, is to drive all good sense out of you.

Well, in the end, I suppose it didn't matter. We made it to the end of the hallway and ascended the stairs to the inn. Bursting out of the room with its concealed door leading to more sin and debauchery than you could possibly stomach, we found ourselves in the common room with three startled people.

After the trail of bodies we left behind, I was worried these folks would be added to the pile, but Mauronk at least had his head on straight, and he stuck an arm out to stop the Imperial from carving a path to the door.

"Who are you?" the Orsimer demanded.

"We...," one of the men said hesitantly, scanning us uncomfortably. Oh, right. Most of us were covered from head to toe in blood splatters. There was a mutilated corpse lurching precariously in front of us. We had that wild look in our eyes that urges retreat. "That is... there is a storm outside. We sought shelter..."

"This isn't it," Mauronk growled. "We are going to burn this place. Get out. _Now_."

The travellers didn't need to be told twice. They gathered up their things and bolted out the door faster than you could say 'Bob's your uncle.' We weren't far behind them. But when we emerged into the snowstorm, I realized (without a trace of disappointment) that Bloody Mary wasn't with us.

The Dunmer faced the inn and began conjuring up what would be one motherfucker of a fireball. The wood caught magnificently and we had the most enviable campfire in all of Skyrim. I wasn't sorry at all to see the end of this place. I could've used a hug from my man, though. Even just a reassuring arm around the shoulders, telling me it was over. Instead, I hugged myself. What else could I do?

"The closest town is Winterhold," the Nord said quietly as we watched the smoke and flames reach toward the heavens. "From there... we may find passage to... our homes."

"May we find forgetfulness as well," the Redguard added.

"Please... this one begs... humblest apologies...," Dar'Zher ventured awkwardly, but the Redguard jerked her head away.

"Do not speak to me," she hissed. "_Ever_."


	17. Hiding

**Hiding**

I hadn't been stuck with a more awkward, suspicious, tense, and anti-social group since summer camp as a teenager. Nobody looked at one another, nobody talked to one another, nobody so much as burped or farted in case they might get noticed. Heaven forbid we should introduce ourselves, either. Mauronk gave me a wide berth and barely looked at me, and I could really have used his support after what we went through. What he confessed.

We trudged through a blizzard for a few hours before a suitable shelter presented itself. Dar'Zher spotted a cave we might all be able to fit in, then he affected simpering courtesy, deferring to the armed warriors to 'ensure our safety.' I had this immediate image of Sala in my head, saying, 'Asps. Very dangerous. You go first.' The Imperial gave him a disgusted look as he went inside, followed by Mauronk and the Dunmer.

While the rest of us civilians waited, stomping our feet and jumping in place to warm ourselves, the Argonian kept looking at me... in some way. Honestly, her reptilian face was almost impossible to read. I arched my eyebrows invitingly, to kind of urge her to say something, but she didn't seem to understand. Figures; I'm sure my human face was just as indecipherable. Sidling up to her, I asked if she was all right.

"I am well enough," she shrugged. "It is you I worry for."

Sighing, I told her in a low voice, "I'm fine. Really. You don't have to worry about me."

"He was not drugged," she hissed back, her narrow tongue flicking the air. "All know he wasn't."

"It's not...," I began defensively, but I was interrupted by the return of our brute squad.

"Come inside," Mauronk beckoned from the mouth of the cave. "Nord, do you know how to dress a bear?"

Not gonna lie, the first thing to pop into my mind was a giant grizzly wearing my slut dress.

"Of course," the Nord replied, obviously not blessed with the kind of mind I had. He led the rest of us inside, and now we knew what the Orsimer was talking about.

The cave hadn't been unoccupied. There was a great big bear inside, probably having a nice winter nap until the intruders waltzed in. Now it was dead, thankfully not hacked to pieces as a result of a violent fight. I supposed we had the Dunmer to thank for that; she was assembling a campfire with some of her reserve magicka. The men gathered around the hairy corpse and commenced the thoroughly disgusting task of skinning.

Okay, the non-wimpy men, anyway. Dar'Zher bared his teeth and narrowed his eyes, then retreated to a far corner with his pack. I couldn't swear to it, but it looked to me like he pulled a tiny little flask out and downed it quickly.

Great. A skooma addict. Just what we needed.

The cave wasn't deep, at least. With light from the campfire and some spell the Dunmer cast, we were able to properly investigate the confines and learned it was just a shallow den. Those of us not up to our shoulders in bear guts (or flipping out on skooma) laid out bedrolls and huddled around the fire. Just us girls, in other words. The Redguard hadn't stopped hugging herself, and now she was staring into the flames without blinking. Not to be outdone in reticence, the Argonian idly stirred and poked the edges of the fire with a stick. I couldn't help it; these ladies needed to talk it out, and if someone didn't break the ice, they'd implode under the weight of their trauma.

"Um... I was wondering something," I ventured, trying for casual. I think I rolled a critical failure, because three pairs of eyes turned toward me with nothing like, 'Yes? Please, go on' in their expressions. Only the Dunmer brushed off her robe and seemed willing to talk.

"What were you wondering?"

"Just... how long were you all... in there?" I asked awkwardly. "Before we showed up?"

If possible, the Redguard retreated even further into herself, hunching her shoulders and cringing from the question. The Argonian bowed her head and said nothing.

"It is difficult to say," the Dunmer gamely replied. "A month, perhaps? The passage of time was not easy to discern. I recall when each of the others arrived, though... vaguely." Frowning, she added, "There was but one goal on my mind. Any distraction from achieving it..." She shook her head. "I barely made note of anything beyond the Imperial."

"So you didn't know each other before...?" I prompted, focusing on the apparently more forthcoming mage. She smiled, but it wasn't an amused or even remotely happy smile.

"That is... rather debatable," she murmured. "How well does one truly know the man with whom one shares a bed for one night?" I blinked with surprise, but couldn't muster a reply. Her lips twitched in another ironic non-smile. "He struck my fancy, so I bedded him."

"Oh," I managed, and I think I even blushed. The Argonian was now looking at the Dunmer.

"Do you know his name?" she asked, then added quickly, "I am not asking it. None need disclose who we are. It is preferred that we do not, yes?"

"Indeed," the Dunmer agreed. "No, I did not care to know his name then, less so now. A similar storm to this one drove us from the road to the inn, and strong drink brought him to my bed. We... warmed one another most of the night, expecting to part ways in the morning. Tacitly agreeing not to speak of our tryst to anyone afterwards."

"Then what?" I urged when she paused. She almost looked like she was remembering that night fondly. I suppose by comparison, a mutually agreed upon screw in a hotel might seem like a really awesome time, given what happened after.

"Well," she sighed, "simply put, the innkeeper, that wretched woman, knew of our liaison, and asked if we had been lovers long. Of course, we denied it. Denied what had passed between us, denied any association before that night, denied pursuing continued relations. She seemed nervous, and pried further. We resisted, and she became frustrated and angry. She left us then, only to return with the ale we had requested. The Imperial succumbed first."

"Oh my god, what?" I breathed, practically on tenterhooks. Her expression became grim.

"I should have been on my guard," the Dunmer continued. "Her questions... They were quite personal, and invasive. The Imperial passed out at the table, and I soon followed. When I woke, I was in that room, my clothing and gear taken, lying upon a bed next to the Imperial in a similar state. It seemed his dose was greater than mine, or I was more resistant. Regardless, we hastened to the door and tried to get out, to no avail. It seemed that we were trapped."

"When did the drugs take affect?" I asked. "Not that I'm looking for the smut in your story, but... they hit me with it right out of the gate."

"They did not use potions at first," she explained. "The innkeeper came to us after we had fretted for a few hours, and told us we should enjoy ourselves. Barely clothed, yet clearly armed, men brought platters of food. She brought... devices. Restraints. Various... objects meant to... inspire us, I suppose. She told us that we found pleasure in one another's arms last night; we were free to indulge ourselves to our heart's content, without fear of discovery or contemptuous glance. She even demonstrated the use of the rose for us, as if watching her receive the attentions of two men at once would so arouse us we would seek to join them." The Dunmer blanched as though she were nauseous. That's kind of how I felt, too.

"You're saying they figured you'd... just...," I began, and she grimaced.

"They assumed we restrained ourselves for fear of being looked upon with disdain," she said sourly. "No such thought entered our minds, for we had no intention of repeating what amounted to a single night's drunken debauchery. When I bed a man, I do so on my terms. I do not 'hold back,' fearing the opinions of others."

"Good for you," I said approvingly. She may be a cold woman, but I had to give her props for being an independent one. Under other circumstances, she was probably a lot more approachable.

"We resisted their coaxing for two days," the Dunmer went on. Now that she'd started, it seemed she wanted to get the whole story out. I have to confess, I was curious as hell. I never knew Sanguine to be the 'drug'em and rape'em' kind, but then I didn't have that tight a grasp on Daedric Princes and their cute little foibles. For all I knew, he sometimes branched out into other Princes' territories just for a change of pace. Being immortal probably gets boring after awhile. "I gathered, eventually, that they began experimenting on us, still attempting to drive us into some manner of embrace, even a clumsy one. Most of their amateurish attempts resulted in us becoming deathly ill. One concoction they slipped in with our ale was so vile we lay in puddles of sick, too weak to move."

"Aphrodisiacs," I muttered, and she paused to look at me. "That's what they were trying to brew up, wasn't it?"

"I do not know that word."

"It's a chemical that... well, _allegedly_ makes you want sex," I explained lamely. "Most of the things where I come from that are called aphrodisiacs turn out to be fakes."

"As you learned yourself, they discovered a potent... aphrodisiac, one that overtakes the imbiber's will, yet leaves them aware. Horribly aware, yet unable to deny its affects. We coupled madly, then passed out from sheer exhaustion, only to resume once we'd woken again."

A little gasping whimper caught my attention, and I finally noticed the Redguard. She was holding her stomach with her hand pressed to her mouth, her eyes closed. Tears stained her cheeks. I didn't even think about it; I reached out and gently laid a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay," I told her softly.

"I invited it," she whispered, her voice muffled behind her hand. "I was... curious."

The Dunmer and I exchanged a baffled look. "I'm sorry," I said uncertainly. "You invited what?"

"How can I face...," she breathed, covering her face with both hands. "The innkeeper... I did not know... I... I met her at a... a roadside shrine... to... to Sanguine."

I think my eyebrows shot over my head. I tried to keep my startled cry of disbelief casual. Another epic fail. "_Really_?" She winced, and the Dunmer gave me an exasperated look.

"If it will ease your sorrow, you may tell us," she told the Redguard gently. "We will not think less of you."

"I... I was curious," the Redguard repeated, her voice so low we could barely hear it. I wasn't the only one leaning closer. She swallowed with difficulty, and kept her gaze on the flames. "I had... certain... vile... fantasies. I dared not... indulge or... even speak of them. I could not tell my husband of them; he would murder me." Her eyes darted to each of us. She looked terrified, humiliated, appalled... "Yet I... sometimes... looked on... with too much interest, to his mind."

"Khajiit?" I probed uncertainly, and she squeezed her eyes shut, bit her lip, and nodded.

"A pe-peddler hawked his wares in a nearby village," she whispered. "I found him... interesting. My husband... did not like how I treated with him. He... he spoke firmly to me on the matter." She touched her cheek in what looked like an unconscious gesture. The Dunmer and I exchanged a meaningful glance. "I left for a short while, most upset. Perhaps I lost my way..."

Her voice trailed off, and I wondered what she was leaving out. I would bet my granny's girdle she got slapped around and yelled at for looking at the Khajiit, but it seemed rude to ask.

"I remember when you were brought in," the Dunmer said quietly. "You were not under their sway yet, were you?"

"No," she replied. "But he was."

"That explains... Oh dear." The Dunmer moved quickly to the Redguard's side and put an arm around her shoulder. The Redguard burst into tears and leaned on the mage. I confess, I was a bit confused.

"Call me stupid, but...," I prompted, and the Dunmer sighed.

"I heard her crying for help, but could do nothing, so bent was I upon my own diversions," she said grimly. "Undoubtedly, defiance led you to that place, true?" The Redguard nodded, but couldn't speak. "But when faced with the realization of your darkest fantasies, you changed your mind. Unfortunately, it was too late." Again, the Redguard nodded.

I couldn't help it; I turned a baleful eye on Dar'Zher, who had passed out in the corner. Holy crap, he really did rape her. I felt like being sick all over. And then to drug the woman so she couldn't help but demand that her rapist do it again and again...

"Why?" I begged of no one in particular. "How in the hell can anyone... I just don't get it. I really don't get it. Is a temple _that _important?"

"To that woman, it was," the Dunmer replied.

"But surely," I protested, "if they wanted it that badly, they could've used their own members. I didn't make a list of the different races involved, but I seem to recall a _mer_ or two in the tangle of bodies here and there. I'm sure they could find other Sanguinites to..."

"To bear mixed breed young?" she finished, arching her brow. "Now why on earth would they want something like that? Their purpose, their goal, their desire is to indulge in the forbidden. There is nothing remotely scandalous about having children, nor is it a simple matter to discard your own offspring. Forced upon another, an abomination has no connection to them. They may slay it without guilt."

"Oh crap," I groaned. "They were making us fuck... to have kids... they were going to kill."

"I do not know if that was their goal," the Dunmer warned. "I rarely overheard their conversations. Most of the time, I was... preoccupied. And they seldom spoke in that room." Sighing, she shook her head. "I do not think the innkeeper knew at what point she ceased to promote Sanguine's designs, and began to follow Molag Bal. Nor did she likely meet her end realizing she'd been seduced by Him."

"How is that possible?" I asked skeptically. "Don't you know which Prince you're following? I thought that was obvious."

The Dunmer arched her brow and gave me the universal, 'I'm so sorry you're that dumb, you poor idiot child' look. "The ways of the Daedra can be subtle, if there is something to be gained. In this case, I believe it was simple amusement. I would not be surprised if Sanguine had a hand in it somehow, if only to grant permission for the use of His follower. For those of us who study the Daedra and their spheres, such manipulation is easier to detect. But if all one knows is a single Prince, one may not realize when one strays into the realm of another."

"How?" I prompted, still not getting it. She gave me the annoyed teacher harumph.

"We are simply mortal," she explained only halfway patiently. "We cannot know the workings of an immortal's mind. Not of Daedra, or Aedra. If the immortal does not speak to us directly, we can only guess at what it wants. Their fickle nature cannot be predicted or discerned, so some guess wrongly. I believe this woman innkeeper assumed that Sanguine would be pleased by the temple, and would not care how it was brought about. I also suspect she is now finding out that her manner of securing such a place for the indulgence of Sanguine's followers did not meet with the Prince's approval." A dry smirk tipped one side of her mouth. "Perhaps another has gathered her soul to Himself, and... rewards her efforts."

Honestly, the thought of that woman being 'rewarded' by Molag Bal was rather maliciously satisfying. It didn't much help the Redguard, though. Her tears were spent, but she was still upset.

"You are... an alchemist, aren't you?" she asked the Dunmer, who nodded. "Can you... is there something... I want to forget. As if none of it ever happened."

"Only time may do that," the Dunmer replied kindly. "Understand this, and perhaps it will grant you peace: neither of you wanted what was done. Not you, not Dar'Zher. He was not in his right mind, which it seems was likely already addled by skooma." She cast a withering look toward the sprawled cat's form in the shadows. "He was drugged, and was not aware of your resistance. Do you understand that much at least?"

"I... I suppose I do," the Redguard acknowledged hesitantly. "Then... I am... it must have been... me who was at fault..."

All three of us firmly said, '_no,_' startling the woman. The Argonian reached out and took her hand.

"You had no say, once you were in the woman's clutches, just as I had no say." Her strange vertical eyelids flicked closed and opened again. "I sought shelter from the storm, just as the Nord did. Because we arrived at the same time, and were appropriately of opposite gender, we were taken. Both given the potions, both unleashed upon one another. There was no discussion, no offer given. We did not know why we were there, what purpose our coupling served, or who all of you were. We only knew that we craved one another, and had no power to resist."

"Exactly so," the Dunmer agreed. "Once they'd 'perfected' their potion, there was no longer any need for other enticements." She chuckled humorlessly. "I suspect they did not realize that the tincture they used did not unlock hidden desires within us, but rather invented those we did not previously possess." Nodding to the Redguard, she explained, "You may have held a fantasty to your breast, but that is all it was. It is completely understandable that you retreated from it when fulfillment was near enough to touch. Some fantasies are better left unrealized, as you learned to your regret."

Then she turned to me, and I found myself caught in the headlights.

"How came you and the Orsimer to the inn?" she prompted with mild interest, clearly in the spirit of sharing we'd cultivated. "I confess, his interest in you is bothersome."

"I... what?" Frowning, I gave her a probing look. "What are you talking about?"

"His eyes follow you about, as though his desires remain unfulfilled."

"Are you sure?" I asked challengingly. "His eyes are solid red. _I_ can't even tell exactly what he's looking at." The Dunmer woman gave me another impatient look, widening her own solid red eyes. I swear, if she was from my world, she'd punctuate her expression with a resounding _duh_. "Oh. Right."

"I have seen it as well," the Argonian chimed in. "He has marked you, as is the way of his people. They claim their women with biting."

"Okay, first of all, we knew each other before... the inn thing," I interjected lamely. "We were travel companions."

The Dunmer's brow furrowed with sympathy. "Then you are doubly betrayed. One you trusted, taking advantage of your vulnerable condition." She shook her head and pursed her lips with disapproval. "If you require our assistance to keep him at bay..."

"No, you don't understand," I broke in. "This mark here? He gave me that before we ever got to the inn. We were... _are_ lovers. And he didn't take advantage of me. He refused, because I was on drugs." Their stunned looks kind of embarrassed me a little. "We didn't want to say anything because of what you all went through. And especially with you all thinking he... raped me. _He didn't_. Not once. Mauronk isn't that kind of man."

"Mauronk?" the Dunmer said, looking startled. "His name is Mauronk?"

Wrong-footed, I slowly replied, "Yeeessss... Do you know him?"

"Not personally, but by name and reputation, yes," she nodded. If possible, her concerned expression got a thousand times _more_ concerned. "I have served a jarl or two in my time here in Skyrim. Your Orsimer is a well-known sellsword. Quite a deadly one."

"Um... Yeah, I knew he was. _Used_ to be. He doesn't do that anymore."

"Perhaps not," the Dunmer conceded. "There was the little matter in the Reach not long ago. I suppose after that..."

"Wait, what happened in the Reach?"

She shook her head and gave me a pitying look. "Foolish child, do you not know anything about your travel companion, your _lover_?" Tsking like an exasperated old lady, she huffed, "He led the hired men who cleared a nest of Forsworn from land claimed by the jarl. Men, women, and children, put to the sword. _His_ sword."


	18. Questions

**Questions**

I didn't immediately stomp over to Mauronk and rip him a new one for not telling me his entire life story before someone else embarrassed me with it. I like to think I have more class than that, but I was actually too stunned to do anything but sit there dumbfounded as the Dunmer filled the silence with more reminders of how little I knew about 'the real Skyrim.'

"Hiring sellswords to remove annoyances is common practice," she casually informed me. "I am certain, as successful a man as he was, he acquired a great deal of money from his services. I wonder that you can afford him. But then, I suppose you do not pay him in coin."

Startled into sudden defensiveness, I straightened angrily and snapped, "Just what the hell are you implying?"

"Admit it to yourself if no one else," the Dunmer said impatiently. "You sleep with him. Perhaps he sits upon so much wealth, he can afford to dally for favors with a comely wench on occasion."

"No," I breathed, sinking into a puddle of uncertainty, ignorance, and shame. "It's not like that. He... he loves me."

"Does he," she said dryly, completely unconvinced. "A man who kills for money is unlikely to possess soft feelings about anything. Still, he did aid us in our time of need. He has not _yet_ demanded recompense for it. I suppose it is possible, however unlikely, that he may not be beyond hope."

I was sick inside. I wanted to stand firmly by my man and deny her accusations. If I'd known him well enough, I might have been able to do it with confidence, too. The fact was, I didn't know dick about Mauronk, even less now. Looking at him bent over a gutted bear – gross – with the other men, all I could think of was that he killed kids. Forsworn kids, maybe, but _kids_.

"I see it in your eyes," the Argonian said quietly. "You want to go to him, yes? Demand answers to your questions? It is shameful, keeping such ugly secrets from one to whom you have professed love, however falsely done. If you must hear his side, do it now, here, for if he turns upon you, we will come to your aid."

"I... I don't know him at all," I whispered. I felt lost all of a sudden. He'd been at my side since I came to Skyrim. But... why was he in that prisoner wagon in the first place? What was he doing that got him arrested with a bunch of rebels? Was he helping the Stormcloaks, or was he hired by them? When did he 'stop' being a mercenary, or was that a lie, too?

The Dunmer seemed to grasp, finally, that maybe I was the victim here, not some ditzy bimbo latching onto strange men with well-endowed wallets. Sighing, she patted my knee sympathetically. "Evidently, he played you false. I am terribly sorry. Perhaps at Winterhold, you may sever your ties with him. I will likely visit the College; you are welcome to accompany me."

Swallowing to keep from puking, I nodded. I couldn't think of anything more to say.

* * *

><p>Dinner was just as quiet as ever. I barely noted how greasy the bear meat was. I kept my head down and my knees tightly together. I didn't look at Mauronk even once.<p>

Which allowed me to notice the Khajiit. He staggered over to join us once the butchers had washed up and brought great hunks of meat to the fire. I guess I'd been too preoccupied to see it before, but he avoided the Redguard woman like the plague. He kept his own head down and ate in silence. His behavior gave me the impression that he was just as anxious to get out of this situation, and away from these people, as I was.

Sitting next to me, I caught a whiff of something on his fur that sparked a memory, and it wasn't moon sugar. The scent brought me back to the Riverwood inn, when Mauronk stumbled into my room. I slowly looked at Dar'Zher, swaying where he sat as he tried to nail his mouth with a pawful of meat. It took a few tries.

He was drunk off his ass. Maybe that wasn't a skooma bottle he palmed, but a flask of really powerful alcohol. Did Khajiit have a different reaction than humans and _mer_? Like, a little dram puts them under the table? Because he was completely smashed. With that thought came the jealous wish that he'd share. Then he noticed I was looking at him, and turned his head. Bleary eyes crinkling in a smile, I guess, he 'grinned' like a Cheshire Cat.

"This one sleeps alone tonight," he purred. "So lonely and cold."

Narrowing my eyes at him, I said sourly, "Sucks to be you." He flicked his tongue over his front teeth, and I almost burst out laughing. He was like the drunk guy coming on to me at a seedy bar, having to lean on the counter so he didn't fall flat on his face. I half expected him to ask what my sign was, or tell me my clothes would look better wadded up on his bedroom floor. It was so farcically comical, I had to bite my lip to keep from exploding. After all we'd been through, I'd probably laugh hysterically until I peed my pants.

"If you need warming...," he offered, his voice rumbling provocatively. He didn't get to finish before Mauronk was across the cave and knocking him backwards.

"Leave her be!" the Orsimer roared, his body quivering with rage. I cringed from him; couldn't really help it. I don't think he noticed, being preoccupied with yanking Dar'Zher up by the front of his ragged shirt. When the Khajiit's face was close to his, Mauronk grimaced. "You are drunk. Save your 'offers' for another time, and other people." Then he pushed Dar'Zher away from him. As is the way of drunk drivers who survive their own crashes, Dar'Zher folded like wet spaghetti when he was released. Whimpering, the Khajiit slunk away into his 'drinking corner.'

"Are you all right?" Mauronk said to me, and this time he saw me flinch. Confused, he backed off, likely still thinking that we had to be discrete. I didn't want to catch the Dunmer's eye; she was probably gloating, saying 'I told you so.' But I had to talk to him. And even though my preference was to do it in private, after unloading this group of people on the nearest counseling center, I was gradually becoming just indignant and pissed enough to accept the wisdom of interrogating him with a small army backing me up.

Shit yeah, I was getting pissed, which is never a good thing. I mean honestly, he _lied_ to me. Whether he flat out lied, or just omitted specific details, the fact of the matter was... Well... I shouldn't have to find out he was a heartless, cold, murdering bastard _from_ _someone else_. Okay, maybe those are the personality quirks we don't usually divulge on the first date, but _honestly_. I didn't learn until _yesterday_ that he did time, for crying out loud. I could describe in nauseating detail every inch of his luscious body, but I didn't have a god damn _clue_ what he did for a living, where he was born, who his hero was, whether he tucked left or right...

I guess I didn't like being fooled, when it came right down to it. With that Dunmer giving me pitying looks, I felt like the _biggest_ fool on the planet. That was going to end right now.

Standing up, I leveled a hard glare at Mauronk, who looked a bit startled by my expression. Maybe a little guilty, a bit wary. "We have to talk," I informed him, and marched off to a part of the cave within shouting distance of the Scooby gang, but nowhere near the drunk cat. Mauronk reluctantly followed.

When I turned to face him, my first thought was denial. He couldn't _possibly_ be a child-killer. He just _couldn't_. The Dunmer didn't recognize him on sight; maybe she got his name wrong, too. I faltered, and he frowned.

"What is it, Danni?" he asked in a low voice.

"Um," I hedged intelligently. My arms came up to hug myself on their own, like I was putting the shields up or something. "We talked a little, the girls and I. They know about us."

He sighed with relief. "Good. I told the men as well, but they will not believe my claims until they hear it from you."

I nodded, hugging myself harder. This wasn't easy; now that I was facing him, I couldn't seem to muster up the indignant rage required to bust his ass. I heard his confession once again, his desperate look as he opened his heart to me...

"Who are you really, Mauronk?" I asked, struggling to keep my voice even. He blinked a few times, confused by my question.

"I don't know what..."

"The Dunmer knew your name," I clarified. "She knew... you served the jarl of Markarth. And... you... killed..."

He winced and looked away. Bowing his head, Mauronk leaned against the cave wall and rubbed his face roughly. He seemed to have difficulty breathing for a minute.

"Is it true?" I asked pointedly. "Did you kill a bunch of Forsworn children?"

It was a long minute before he finally answered, never raising his head once. When he spoke, the bottom fell out of my world. "Do you think I don't still see their faces?"

"Oh god," I whimpered, taking a step back. "How could you?"

He lowered himself awkwardly into a squat, leaning his head back against the wall and staring at the ceiling. His eyes glistened wetly. "I have no excuses. Not then, not now. I was a pig. A vile, murdering pig. One that was rightfully sent to slaughter, but walked away by chance."

I just stared at him, unable to say anything. All of a sudden, I didn't want to know. I wanted whatever he was about to say to remain unsaid. Let me have shy, blushing, gentle Mauronk back, please? _I don't want to know_.

"I was hired... often," he said, his voice distant and pained. I closed my eyes so I wouldn't see his face; I didn't want to look at him when he told me this. "Jarl Igmund and I... shared intense hatred of the Forsworn. I was willing to do... anything he commanded, if it meant... spilling their blood."

"Why did you hate them so much?" I asked, partly to avoid the inevitable. My knees were already weak; I sank to the floor and sat opposite him. Forcing myself to look at him, I think I saw him more clearly than I ever had. The one thing he showed me in this moment was his remorse, and I clung to it. He wasn't bragging or joking about it. What happened – whenever it happened – was obviously a painful memory for him.

"Their leader is in Cidhna Mine," he replied tightly. "Was, anyway. I don't know if he still is. He tried to... recruit me, when I was there. Said I was wasted on the Nord oppressors, a strong Orc like myself. Except... he made... a mistake. His men... sacked a stronghold, on his orders. Killed every Orsimer inside." Mauronk swallowed with difficulty, and blinked back tears. It took him a moment to speak again. "He... claimed... it was... Nords. The Jarl ordered it, his men carried it out. He lied." He laughed bitterly and shook his head. "The fucking bastard _lied_."

"What... stronghold...," I whispered, dreading his answer. The look on his face, the pain and anger... Oh shit. The game missed one.

"Rogdul," he murmured. "Small one, in the shadow of Hag Rock. Chieftain was... Mukdul." Bowing his head, he rubbed his eyes and drew a shuddering breath. "My f-father."

"Oh my god," I breathed. I had to restrain myself; one of my hands reached out to him, but I pulled it back. "I'm sorry, Mauronk."

"I don't mourn him," he replied, mastering himself. "I was... beneath him. Least of his sons, born to the least of his wives. Rogdul had... no place for me. So I left. A year later, it was gone." He swiped at his eyes again. "It was my... my mother I mourned."

I was stunned. How had he hidden all this from me? _Why_ had he? I couldn't think of a thing to say, and just stared at him, torn between wanting to hold him as tightly as I could, and backing away. What happened in the Reach still hung like a pall between us. I needed him to keep going, tell me it wasn't what the Dunmer said. She'd heard Thalmor propaganda, or placed Mauronk somewhere he wasn't. Except I already knew that wasn't the case.

Without my prompting, Mauronk gathered his forces and continued. "What... the Dunmer is remembering... happened last summer. Whenever Jarl Igmund learned of Forsworn encampments, whether they were members or sympathizers, he sought to root them out. My men were... often called upon. I held firm to my hatred and thirst for vengeance. I gave no protest, asked no questions. All he had to say was, 'Mauronk... there are Forsworn. Slay them for me.'" Bowing his head, his voice full of contempt, he hissed, "And I would do his bidding."

"He... he paid you...," I said hesitantly, just to fill the silence when he paused. He was having a very hard time speaking, as if every word brought him closer to complete collapse. He couldn't look at me, either.

"Yes," he nodded. "I was... paid well."

"What happened, Mauronk?" I pressed shakily.

"It was... a small encampment in the eastern part of the Reach, near Reachwind Eyrie. Igmund was expecting a larger force; he led his own men and engaged mine to back them up. We... we struck before dawn." Wincing, he pressed his hand to his eyes. His voice shook, his lips quivered. "I want... the luxury of claiming darkness for not... knowing how few... But I could see well enough. In my rage, I remembered those I called family, butchered and left to rot, and I showed no mercy."

Pausing, Mauronk struggled to retain control. I could tell this was by far the most painful thing he'd ever had to relate. When he told me about being a mercenary, I'd initially thought that he quit because a cheapskate idiot tried to hire him to assassinate some random citizen without going through the ritual rigamarole, or something equally knock-off Dark Brotherhood-ish. Now I realized that it must have been _this_ event that did it.

"The battle was short," he went on. "The old ones and... some of the women... all of the men... were dead. There was only a... a handful of women left, and... ten children. The oldest..." His eyes squeezed shut and he grimaced. "The oldest was... was no... no more... no more than eight. They were farmers, herders. They begged and pleaded, claiming... they supplied a cell of Forsworn, but hurt no one themselves."

It took longer for him to master himself this time. I felt like I was watching him slide down a cliff, and I wasn't close enough to reach his hands. He huffed and gasped a few times, then grit his teeth. "Igmund gave the command... to me and my men. He didn't want his own... tainted. He said... he did not want them... to become warriors in the cause against him. I hesitated, but not long enough. I almost questioned... but almost isn't good enough. I had not... let go of my hate enough to say no. It left me soon after, and I could see clearly what I had become, what hate had done to me, but it was too late. There was the blood of a child on my hands. The blood of many children..."

Drawing up his knees, he folded his arms on them and lowered his head. After a moment, his shoulders began to shake, and I could hear him sobbing. I didn't know what to do or what to say. I just sat there, staring at him in shocked silence. Even though I knew I was in a whole different world, where violence was as common as breathing in everyone's daily routine, I wasn't _from_ here. I couldn't stop myself from applying 'my world' ethics on the situation. Mauronk's failure to question obviously insane orders aside, that damned Jarl... For a moment, I sat in incredulous bewilderment that a political leader, the equivalent, maybe, of a state governor, would risk his reputation by allowing himself to be even remotely associated with a massacre like this. Hell, they're more apt to hire a network of folks to lay diversions and false trails so they can get laid, than they are to lead a small army into a community and start murdering people. It was unfathomable.

But of course, I was distracting myself from the issue facing me here and now. Could I stomach what _Mauronk_ did? At the moment, I was too stunned to decide.

I waited until he'd gotten himself under control again. Raising his head, but still not looking me in the eyes, he breathed shakily, "I'm sorry, Danni. I've been... trying to leave Skyrim ever since that day. There was nothing here for me but... painful memories and... bad luck." He finally looked at me, and smiled a little. "Then I met you, and it seemed... a laughable irony... to meet the one... _the one_... when I was finally being marched to the block." His face crumpled, and he closed his eyes tightly. "I wish now... that no dragon had come. I would have died... at your side, and you would never know..." He dragged a shaking hand across his eyes.

"Mauronk... I... I don't know what to say." Tears were streaming down my face; I hadn't even been aware of them. He closed his eyes again and nodded.

"I understand," he said quietly.

"I need some... space," I went on, practically at the point of babbling. "Just... some time to... process this." He nodded again.

"Danni," he murmured thickly, "I... I am... so sorry."

* * *

><p>I barely slept all night, thinking and grieving. Mauronk kept his distance, rejoining the other men once he'd gathered himself together. I kept going back and forth between anger, hurt, humiliation, betrayal, and <em>huge<em> disappointment. I just wanted to say, _it's over_. It's in the past. He didn't want to trot out these events because he obviously wanted to move on from them. Leave them behind and maybe start over. But the uglier the past, the more likely it is to surface.

When morning rolled around, there were a few half-hearted complaints about the hard ground, but nobody really wanted to make a fuss. It was like they could feel the tension between me and Mauronk, or could sense that something really bad happened. The Argonian put an arm around my shoulders and squeezed reassuringly.

"Ease your mind," she advised. "You have learned what you needed to know. Are you content?"

"No," I murmured, shaking my head. Like a spigot was turned on, tears poured from my eyes. She embraced me and stroked my back.

"There, now," she soothed, "Do you feel he is a good man?"

"I thought so," I replied shakily. "Nothing I know about him... It makes no sense! He's not like that!"

"Ssshh. Perhaps he is no longer what he was. Perhaps he has changed, yes? Perhaps you see the man he made of himself, and that is all you see."

"I think so," I agreed hesitantly. Glancing past her shoulder, I watched him stoically banking the fire. He spoke to no one.

"Look again, now that you know what he was," the Argonian continued. "If you still see him as he is, perhaps that is _what_ he is, and this... other man is no longer within him."

"I wish I could... just forget about that... other man," I whispered. "I can't."

She shook her head. "It is too soon. Give yourself time, then look at him with fresh eyes."

I was certainly knocked for a loop right now. Every time I looked at him, I heard little voices in my head: the Dunmer breaking the bad news, Mauronk painfully relating the truth, and the Argonian's advice. I thought those creepy voiceovers only happened in movies. By the time we left the cave, I was no closer to figuring out where I stood than I was when the lousy history bombs started falling. I just trudged along behind the group, barely keeping them in my sights while the snow flew, and the sun passed overhead.

When the Nord called out that Winterhold could be seen in the distance, I almost cried, I was so relieved. To begin with, I would get to unload this entire crew and get them all out of my damned hair. Then I could be alone with Mauronk, and talk things out. Except I didn't think I was quite ready to face off with him. I wanted to sleep on it at least one night in a comfortable, warm setting. Come back refreshed in the morning, ready to tackle the situation. Maybe by morning, I'd have those fresh eyes the Argonian promised.

Just our luck, 'almost there' turned out to be several more miles through knee-deep snow drifts and sleet blowing into our faces. The sun was completely set by the time we stumbled half-blindly into the inn. The innkeeper greeted us with surprise – he probably didn't see groups of eight wander into his establishment in the dead of night too often – and offered up meals and rooms.

Mauronk met my gaze and moved closer. His voice was quiet and sad. "I... suspect you don't... want to... I can share a room with the men."

"Yeah," I nodded. "Me and the ladies... we've got... girl talk and... stuff."

He looked like he wanted to say a million things, but settled for, "Sleep well." Then he retreated to the room he and the men were assigned, and I went with the women.


	19. Losing

**Losing**

I probably won the prize for Most Annoying Roommate that night. Tossing and turning wasn't enough; I had to frequently burst into tears with my face buried in a pillow. There was only one bed in that cubbyhole of a room, and we all tacitly decided that the Redguard woman should get it. She protested, we insisted; she asked if we were sure, we threw her into it. Not literally; the poor woman had been through enough. Building myself a blanket and pillow nest in a corner, I assumed a fetal position and pretty much cried all night.

Beginning with the cry baby's lament of _why can't he just be a normal, boring guy_, I went over every moment we'd been together. I remembered facial expressions I'd been too clueless to consciously notice, words he'd spoken, tone, inflection... I revisited and relived every second. Except the naughty parts – this was serious.

Mauronk told me there were 'expectations he didn't want to live up to.' Was this one of those 'expectations'? That as long as he was getting paid, he should shut up and just do it? Did his epiphany strike him, then he confronted the Jarl? Did something rude get thrown in his face? And I still didn't know why he was there on the border of Skyrim and whatever the fuck is south of it to begin with. Whatever, he was close enough to be transported to convenient Helgen. The fact that I didn't have a clue why _I_ was there either didn't even enter into it.

Maybe that's what he meant, about trying to leave. Did he have unfinished business after... what happened? Did he try to make peace with someone and wasn't able to? I didn't know him well enough to even guess. I wanted to believe that he tried to undo the harm, or lessen it. He sought out the survivors and apologized. He donated, I don't know, clothes and shit to a Forsworn orphanage or something. _Anything._

Then I drifted into _he just __**can't**__ be an evil bastard_ territory, recalling how he recognized immediately what was going on in that room, and did his best to stop it as soon as he could. He went to the Redguard woman first. He spoke kindly to all the women. He only got shitty with the Khajiit because that stupid, horny tomcat wasn't too anxious to embrace the truth.

I tried to hate Mauronk for what he'd done, I really did. Even without qualifying every statement with 'but he's got a nice dick,' I just couldn't hate him. I knew _just enough_ about him that I couldn't dismiss him from my life without a fight. I couldn't say to myself, 'He done you wrong, girl. Kick his ass to the curb.' He _didn't_ do me wrong. He'd always been... somewhat straight with me. What he did was obviously something that changed his life. Triggered an epiphany. Freaked him right out. Scared him straight. He faced an inner demon, a hate so fierce he lost touch with that honor Orsimer are so damned obsessed with. Faced it, and _beat it_.

Remembering it made him cry. Big, tough, manly Mauronk, brought to tears. Maybe I'm not the brightest light in the cupboard, but I could tell he wasn't putting on a show for my benefit; he was genuinely devastated by that event, moreso by having to recall it.

Maybe what he used to be _was_ a pig. But I didn't know him _then_. I met him after he'd gotten his shit together. _After_ he realized he was on the wrong path. _After_ he decided to walk in the right direction. Maybe he was meant to walk right into my arms, or some other sentimental bullshit thing like that. You never know with local deities; they could have your whole life planned out, or just get a kick out of winding you up and letting you go.

The fact of the matter was, I didn't want to take another step without him, because somewhere along the line, I fell in love. I guess I didn't want to accept it until _this_ happened, and the prospect of leaving him was on the table. But there it was: I wanted to work this out, help him get through it, get over it, get past it. I wanted to be at his side, encouraging and supporting him. Do whatever it took to make things right between us, and between him and the victims, if that was even a possibility now.

By the time morning came, I was tired but firm in my decision. The Dunmer noticed something different about me – probably the dry eyes and non-runny nose – and frowned a little.

"Are you well?" she asked. "Your night was... restless." _There's_ an understatement.

"I'm fine," I told her sincerely. "I know you think he's... But I know he isn't. Not anymore."

She nodded. "It would seem so. I would call you fool, but... perhaps... he needs you."

"I certainly need him."

"Very well," she conceded. "I hope he is... worthy of your love. I confess, what I know of him – second-hand, I grant you – does not imply worthiness. But if you believe in your heart that he is a good man..."

"He is," I insisted. "I believe it."

"It is understandable," the Argonian chimed in. "There is not much I can see in a human's expression, less in a _mer_, but in your reaction and your tears, I could not help but see great love. Disappointed and betrayed, but great. I also hope he is worthy of it."

Well, that was a surprise. Did I wear a damn sign? I only realized how I felt, like, an hour ago, and these ladies both pegged it before we went to bed last night, apparently.

"I think he is," I said staunchly. "We have a mission to attend to, so... we ought to get going." My stomach growled loudly all of a sudden. Half-smiling with sheepish embarrassment, I added, "After breakfast."

"Indeed," the Dunmer chuckled. Offering a hand to the Redguard, who seemed to have decided that less talk would enable her to catch the nearest wagon out of town without lengthy, heartfelt good-byes, the Dunmer led the way into the common room.

Evidently, the boys either slept worse than us, or were earlier risers. The Imperial, the Nord, and Dar'Zher were already tucking into grits or something at separate tables. Already dismissing one another from their circle of friends, it looked like. I didn't see Mauronk, and wondered if he was still in their room. I kind of wished I'd stayed in bed too; I barely slept, and wasn't entirely 'with it' myself. Then the innkeeper called us over.

"Which of you is Thane Danni?" he asked. There was a folded parchment in his hand. My first thought was that Jarl Balgruuf was checking up on me, and I rolled my eyes. Keep your shorts on, dude.

"That's me," I grumbled, and took the note from his hand. The Dunmer accompanied me to the bar and began ordering food. When I read the first line, my knees gave way, and I slumped to the floor with a strangled cry.

_Beloved Danni,_

_You will think me a coward, and a liar. I would be otherwise, if I could. I was a fool to believe in dreams, however sweet and longed-for. I was a fool to believe my shameful deeds would remain dead and buried, that they would not rise up and cause you pain. I was a greater fool for hoping something as foul as I deserved someone as kind and good as you. I was not lying to you – I love you. Heart and soul, I love you. But you should have a man of honor at your side, and I am not that man. I cannot apologize enough for what I was, nor for the promise I made that I must now break. I do not leave you lightly, or without regret. If the worst has happened, and I have left an abomination within you, I will not blame you for ridding yourself of it. I did not have the right – not to bed you, certainly not to claim you. Yet I took all you offered, and gave you nothing that was good enough in return._

_I do not ask for your forgiveness. I cannot ask for something I should not be given._

_Mauronk gro-Rogdul_

I had to read it a few times, and each time through my heart hammered harder, and my breaths came in quicker gasps. I didn't register that the Dunmer had abandoned breakfast ordering and had pulled me into her arms. I didn't realize she'd taken the note from my hand. I couldn't see, I was crying so hard; couldn't breathe through the gagging and choking.

He was gone. Mauronk was _gone_. I think I suffered a collapse; when I came to my senses and could breathe again, I was in a bed with a cold, damp cloth over my swollen, burning eyes. Someone I couldn't see was holding my hand and humming to herself with a raspy sort of voice. Somehow, I knew it was the Argonian, and thought dimly that she decided to stay in town after all. Reaching up with a shaking hand, I lifted the cloth and blinked my eyes into focus.

"Hush now," the Argonian said softly, patting the back of my hand. "All will be well in time."

"Please...," I begged thickly, "tell me I dreamed it. Please?"

She glanced over her shoulder as the Dunmer entered the room, her face grave. "You should rest," she advised, taking a seat on the edge of the bed beside the Argonian.

"He's really gone, isn't he?" I whimpered, looking from one to the other, hoping they'd tell me otherwise. The Dunmer laid a sympathetic hand on my leg.

"The Imperial told me that he only stayed an hour," she informed me. "Long enough to write his letter to you. He said it took several tries, and not a few tears." A little half smile that didn't look remotely amused – more like bewildered – quirked her lips. "He was surprised to see an Orsimer weep. I confess, I cannot imagine such a thing either. Regardless, he left during the night; no one saw what direction he took."

I stared at the wall for at least a minute, my mind blank, numb, like a blasted landscape. My heart hurt, my gut hurt. I only breathed because somewhere deep inside, my body knew it had to.

"How could he leave me?" I whispered. "What did I do wrong?"

"You did nothing wrong," the Dunmer insisted firmly. "I confess, I read his letter to you. I thought perhaps... Well, to be honest, I did not realize it was from him. I apologize for prying, but the contents of the letter sent you to the floor. I could not stand idly by..."

"It's... it's okay," I muttered. A wave of misery assaulted me suddenly, and I covered my eyes and cried. Both women spoke soothing nonsense in low voices, like they were at my deathbed. I heard the Imperial's voice, discretely asking if there was anything we needed. The Dunmer asked for a pitcher of cold water. Out of left field and completely unimportant in the grand scheme of things, I asked, "Where's the Redguard?"

"Safely on her way home," the Argonian replied. "A wagon left shortly after the letter... It was bound for Whiterun. The Nord and the Redguard took their opportunity. The Khajiit... well, he hasn't any money to travel."

"The last I saw of Dar'Zher was at breakfast, an hour ago," the Imperial supplied, then paused. After a moment, he spoke again, his voice subdued. "I am sorry, madam, for your... your loss. I asked him if... if it was wise, leaving you alone in a strange city. He said... you were a strong woman, and would find friends to help you. He said... you did not need someone like him... ruining you." Looking away uncomfortably, he added, "It would seem... his claims were a lie after all."

I winced and shook my head vigorously. "No," I sobbed, sitting up and clumsily wiping away the tears. I remembered what he said in the letter, about leaving an abomination behind, and I bent over clutching my stomach. Gods, did he think that? Did he really believe something made by us would be that horrible, that it would 'ruin' me? Or did he assume _I _would think so? Given how uncomfortable he was about our racial differences, that was probably the case.

Then I got angry. How _dare_ he abandon me in this town with a bunch of strangers? Embracing fury, I growled through clenched teeth, "No, he didn't lie. We were lovers. We _still_ are, as far as I'm concerned. I promise you, I am going to find him and _kick his ass_. He is my fucking _housecarl_; he's not getting away that easily."

The Dunmer smirked appreciatively. "There you are. You shall be as the Scourge of Malacath, ensuring he stands by his sworn oath. May the Prince grant you His strength."

"Thank you, I think," I replied a little uncertainly. I was more interested in being the Spanking Paddle of Vengeance, after what he did. Whatever, the important thing was that I could breathe again. I had a plan. Well, a goal. Maybe not a plan yet, but definitely a goal.

"If you require assistance," the Dunmer offered a little awkwardly, "I am... at loose ends for the moment. Perhaps..."

"_Yes_," I blurted, practically leaping into her lap. In a manner of speaking. "I have to tell you, I am completely and totally lame. He was... my guard and..." My throat closed, and I had to stop before the water works got going again.

"It would be... rude of me to leave you to your fates," the Imperial sighed. "If you require a sword, you may count on mine."

I sort of blinked stupidly at them both, then glanced at the Argonian to see if she was going to volunteer as well. She bowed her head.

"Apologies that I must go," she murmured. "The cold... It is very difficult..."

"That's fine," I interrupted, grabbing her hand. "You've been a real peach, honestly. I'm glad you stayed as long as you did. I hope you don't have to wait long for another wagon." Throwing caution, and probably local customs, to the wind, I threw my arms around her and gave her a big hug. "You've helped me so much. Thank you."

She chuckled throatily and patted my back, then drew back to... smile, I guess. Hard telling. Then her head jerked up straight and she started pivoting it back and forth as if she could hear or smell something strange.

"What is...?" she began, then the rafters rattled hard, as if a jumbo jet just crop-dusted overhead. A muffled roar soared past, getting quieter with distance.

"Dragon," I blurted, my eyes going wide. I shouldn't have been surprised; I swear to god, every time I fast-traveled _anywhere_, a dragon was waiting for me. Without fail. This one must have missed the alert on its smartphone, announcing my impending arrival. Better late than never, I guess.

"You jest," the Imperial scoffed half-heartedly from the doorway. He looked shocked, uncertain, hopeful that I was pulling his leg. Sorry, man – I am totally not shitting you.

I leaped from the bed and rifled my belongs for bow and quiver, then bolted out the door without a backwards glance. Was I feeling a little reckless? You betcha. And maybe I still had some lingering feelings of helplessness and frustration needing an extremely large and scaly outlet right about now.

The inn was filling up with folks wearing shocked looks on their faces, and I had to chuckle in a graveside humor kind of way. Yes, the first place you want to hide from a _fire-breathing dragon_ is inside the large wooden building. Good plan. Second only to parks department outhouses as a fool-proof means of escaping dragon _and_ dinosaur attacks.

Once outside, I got hit in the chest with the bitter cold; a blast of wind struck me hard and stole my breath away. I briefly had a worried thought that Mauronk went out in the middle of this kind of weather – would he be warm enough? – before I had to shut that shit down so I could operate. Just thinking about him... A lump rose in my throat and I felt the sting of fresh tears freezing on my eyeballs. _Not _pleasant. The dragon's roar thundered above the town as it circled, and I was dimly aware of the Dunmer and the Imperial running out into the street with me.

Was it wrong of me that I was secretly hoping they'd hit it off and live happily ever after? Probably. Dammit, if I can't have a happy ending, someone better get one.

Reminding myself that my happy ending was just a determined search and pimp-slap away, I drew an arrow and got it ready.

"By the Nine," the Dunmer breathed in shocked awe. Shaking her head in denial, she just stared, speechless, as the dragon swooped low, then beat its great wings back to halt its momentum. It descended on the roof of the Jarl's longhouse, not far from the inn.

Drawing his sword, the Imperial grimly advanced with the other guards. I pulled back the string on my bow and let loose my first arrow... which miraculously sailed over the heads of the guards and hit the uppermost story of the longhouse a good ten yards from the nearest dragon part.

Close enough.

Shaken from her stupor by my lame archery skills, the Dunmer readied one of her horse-cart-sized fireballs just as the dragon unleashed frosty hell on the hapless guards on the ground. One of them caught in the center of the blast froze solid instantly; a follow up _shout_ shattered him into a million pieces. I peed my pants a little.

Evidently, though, a frost-breathing dragon doesn't hold up well to fireballs so big you can build a house on them. It protested mightily when the flames engulfed it, then lurched clumsily upward, beating its wings hard to get back in the sky.

"Nail it again!" I told the Dunmer as I sent another arrow sailing ineffectually over the inn's roof. Before the dragon could flap those wings hard enough to lift its heavy ass in the air, it received another fireball to the face.

It didn't like that one damn bit. Screaming bloody murder, the singed dragon rose up high, looped around, then did a strafing run down the main street. Guardsmen scattered, diving for cover as a huge blast of frost hit the ground and ran like a cutting torch down the center of the town.

Because the odds were in my favor when my target was within a few yards, I managed to actually hit the damn dragon as it flew past. I would have jumped for joy if the stupid arrow had actually gone _in_ and stuck there. Thank the gods for the Dunmer; she let it have a fireball enema once it was past.

A few swoops through the gauntlet of the Dunmer's fireballs and the guardsmen's arrow attacks finally brought the dragon to the ground, and the Imperial was able to earn his stripes. He also got a wing swipe across the chest that sent him flying into a building. Since I wasn't doing any good, I ran to his side without really thinking that he might be dead. Luckily, his armor was well-made and his landing only somewhat hard as frozen timber; a musty stack of hay caught most of his body on the rebound.

"Are you all right?" I asked quickly as I helped him sit up. He coughed a few times and rubbed his chest.

"Yes, I am... I am well enough," he gasped. Looking out at the battle, he shook his head. "I can barely believe... it is real. Where did it come from?"

"You don't know? Oh, of course you don't," I grumped. The game made it seem like there was a fiber optic network providing news feeds to every household in Skyrim. I promise you, five minutes after Helgen fell, you could hop a wagon to Winterhold, be there in seconds, and they'd already know about the attack. It was weird realizing that hey, if someone doesn't haul their ass cross-country, ain't nobody knowin' about them dragons taking a dump on random villages.

Then the Imperial started to get up, using the wall behind him as a support. Taking a few deep breaths – which made me think of that fight Mauronk and I got into, where he was struck by a warhammer and... _stop thinking about him, Danni_ – he readied his weapon and charged back in.

The first thing he did was pull the Dunmer away from where the dragon was about to swing its head around. She was concentrating on another blast, her hands out and glowing with bright orange fire, and didn't know the dragon's breath attack was coming around for her.

I didn't want to be the one lame-ass in town who didn't get a piece of that dragon. Nocking another arrow, I rose up and set my feet firmly, then let loose. The arrow went wide of what I was aiming at – its head – and cut through a wing membrane. The dragon did not find this amusing at all, on top of all the other annoyances it was putting up with, and _shouted_ at me.

It might have been that first _shout_ you pick up, the knock-em-on-their-ass, _fus_ _shout_, because I got hit with a sledgehammer force in the chest and flew backwards into a snowberry bush. In addition to having the wind knocked out of me, I had to endure the embarrassment of being covered in berry juice that would probably stain my leather armor in a most unattractive way.

Eventually, the compounded interest of twenty guardsmen, a mage, and an experienced swordsman all took their toll, and the dragon slumped to the ground with a groaning hiss. Just to make damn sure it was dead, a pair of guards drove swords through the dragon's body in the heart region.

I was numb once again. I last fought a dragon with Mauronk. He held me up when I didn't think I could stand for another minute. He stood by my side before the Jarl of Whiterun. He agreed to be my housecarl. He hoped... he'd be worthy of me...

Drawing a shuddering breath, I tried not to cry right there in the middle of the town. Folks were coming out of the houses, shaken and staring at the giant corpse in awe. I had the crazy thought that someone was going to have a hell of a mess to clean up, when I heard someone gasp.

"What is happening?" a voice cried, and the murmurs of wonder turned into screams of terror. I honestly didn't know which way to look: up? down? Was another dragon spotted? I had no idea. Then I realized the corpse was glowing. I must have crapped myself sideways.

"_Nobody move!_" I roared, throwing my arms wide. As if I held the answers, everyone obeyed instantly. I scanned the crowd as the dragon's flesh ignited. Then the golden tendrils of its soul rose like smoke from the flames, and began to search.

I tried to follow them, but the light they were giving off was too bright. Like, a hundred times brighter than in the game. In spite of my command, a few people backed up as the tendrils snaked toward them.

"Stop moving! Everyone just stand still!" I cried. Then the tendrils seemed to have found their mark, and rushed at the Chosen Hero Who Will Save All of Tamriel. I sagged. My shoulders slumped in disbelief. Like I hadn't already endured the torments of hell today, _now_ I had to put up with a cowardly, alcoholic Dragonborn.

The dragon's soul sank into a bewildered, teetering, nauseous-looking Dar'Zher.


End file.
